Angels Die Softly
by Heroes Fly-Minho's Hero Limps
Summary: "I think I love you but don't even know you..." -Gavin DeGraw, Best I Ever Had
1. Chapter 1

-Angels Die Softly-

-Hiiii, beautiful readers! This fanfic, omg. It will be my pride and joy, I can already tell. I'm so excited to write it. This is a modern au story, with a bunch of short chapters about Minho as a volunteer at a hospital, and Newt as a (somewhat-sassy) patient, with the Flare. I've been WAITING to put this idea down on paper, and I'm so glad it's here! Yay! :D

A few warnings: may change rating. I honestly don't know if anything M-rated will end up in here. Probably not, but just in case, I'm telling you about it now. Also, in this story, Newt is dying of the Flare, even if his medications make it a comfortable, more peaceful death. This might not have a happy ending for our couple, but I don't know yet.

You have been warned; now read this thing already! Reviews=love :)-

"I think I love you

but don't even know you..."

-Gavin DeGraw, Best I Ever Had

Minho wasn't sure if he liked hospitals or not.

They always had that too-clean smell hanging in the air, like the staff was trying extra hard to erase death and pain from the walls. It was bright too, with those fluorescent lights and white walls. He was nearly blinded every time he walked through the doors. Which wasn't all that often. But today, he found himself walking through those doors, and then going even farther, following one of the nurses back down a discreet hallway.

The glowing sign above the double doors they entered through read THE FLARE.

"So have you done this kind of thing before?" the nurse asked. She looked back over her shoulder to flash him a kind smile. She was only a bit older than him, with long, autumn-brown hair and hazel eyes. Her name tag stated that her name was Brenda.

"Only once," Minho answered, focusing on the mint-green of her shirt so that he wouldn't get lost in the turns of the hallway. "But it was for a short time. I had to move away and the hospital was too far away to drive to."

"I see." She nodded importantly. "But hey, here you are again. It's always so nice to see people who're willing to do this."

"Well, someone has to, right?"

"Sadly, yes. It's a shame. But the patients who don't have any family left always love getting visitors to cheer them up. Makes them feel better."

One side of Minho's mouth turned up in a smile and he went back to scanning the rooms as they passed. Each one was concealed by a heavy metal door. Some doors were locked shut, the frosted glass of the lone window hiding whatever was inside. Others were ajar, giving glimpses of water glasses on bedside tables or bottles of medication. Minho wondered how many of them had no loved ones left, and relied on volunteering strangers like him to make their lives happier. Brenda was right. It was sad.

"All right, here we are," Brenda announced, snapping him out of his thoughts. She'd stopped next to a door near the end of the hallway, turning to smile at Minho. The door, unlike some others, was wide open. But from this angle, Minho couldn't see inside yet. Brenda leaned forward and called inside, "your lovely visitor's here!"

The sour reply was, "whatever."

Minho raised his eyebrows and Brenda heaved a long sigh. "Please, try to be POLITE," she replied to the stranger witheringly. This time, she received a noncommittal snort.

"He sounds...interesting," Minho managed.

"Yes, well." Brenda scratched the top of her head, then ran her fingers back through her hair. "He's younger than most of the others here. He didn't expect to get the Flare so fast, or to have one of the more serious strains of it. It's hard on him and I think he isolated himself here. He's just so lonely." She took a step toward him and lowered her voice. "His grandparents passed away a while ago and his parents died in a car crash. He never talks about it, to anyone. But you should know before you go in there."

Minho suddenly wasn't sure he wanted to go in there. This guy sounded like he didn't even WANT a friend in the first place. He gave Brenda an uncertain look. "Does he even want me here?" he asked.

"NO," came the voice from the bedroom.

Brenda rolled her eyes dramatically and scolded loudly, "BEHAVE PLEASE." Then she turned her attention back to Minho. "I don't think he does," she replied, even though it was a bit obvious. "But he needs someone. Isolation isn't healthy for him."

"I can tell," he muttered under his breath. This guy sounded like he couldn't care less whether Minho visited him or got hit by a bus.

Brenda patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry. He'll warm up to you. You'll see." With a final smile, she was gone, heading back the way they'd come.

Minho half-wanted to follow her out and say that he'd changed his mind. Sure, he was all for volunteering and helping people out. He'd done it before, with a little girl named Katherine, back at the old White Glade Hospital. He'd loved entertaining that bright seven-year-old, making her laugh and telling her stories. But getting a new job farther away as an art instructor meant he had to move. He'd missed helping people. So yes, he liked volunteering. He just hadn't expected to have to help out...THIS particular person.

Well, he thought to himself, you got yourself into this and you wanted to help. So get your ass in there. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the open doorway of the stranger's room. The first thing he saw was the case sitting at one wall. It was a curious little thing, all sleek and shiny. It was a smallish, instrument's case, black with silver around lid. The size and shape hinted at a violin. Minho hadn't known that anyone here had brought their belongings like this one. He wondered if the patient played anymore. Then he glanced up at the bed in the center of the room. His eyes were drawn immediately to a flash of blonde and when he saw the person sitting there, he lost his thoughts for a moment.

The boy in the hospital bed, reclining on a pile of pillows, was an utter angel. His rakishly tousled hair was the color of shining, golden tinsel. He had eyes like the ocean during thunderstorms, a sinful, deep blue. His skin was pale, of course, from the sickness attacking his body and faint rims ringed his eyes. He was thin too. Sickly, slim, and a tad bit rude. He didn't sound like Minho's type. But the lines of his shoulders were curving brushstrokes under the blue hospital-style shirt and the way he moved hinted at a fluidity no one else had. Whether he wanted to or not, Minho founded himself gawking at the boy.

The boy had his arms crossed indignantly over his chest, head cocked in a way that stated: I'd rather talk to the walls of this room than you. He then proceeded to speak in a heart-melting, musical British accent. "I hope you don't plan on showing up to stare at me every bloody day."

Minho realized what he was doing and mentally scolded himself. This was a complete STRANGER. (well, an unbelievably attractive stranger, but still) He had to pull himself together. "No, that wasn't exactly what I had in mind," he spoke up, with a half-grin.

"Good, because you won't believe how many people stare at you here like they think you'll die in the next thirty seconds." The boy released a rough sigh and shifted his gaze pointedly away from Minho. Maybe he thought the other boy would leave.

He was wrong. Minho cleared his throat. "Well, um," he began uneasily, "do you mind if I sit down?" He gestured at a chair set up beside the bed.

The boy lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. "Go ahead."

Minho tried not to feel too uncomfortable as he rounded the bed and took the chair's back in his hands. Moving it to a better position, he added, "I'm Minho, by the way," just to fill the silence. He was just beginning to sit down when the boy spoke again.

"Newt."

Minho blinked. "What?"

"I said, Newt." The boy didn't even bother to look at him. "It's my name."

Minho couldn't only stare at him incredulously. "Your REAL name?" he couldn't help asking.

"No, god no, of course not. My real name's Isaac Newton, but if you ever call me THAT, I'll throw you out the bloody window. I don't care how sick I am, I'll manage it."

For some reason, Minho decided he liked this guy. He had to hold back laughter at the dry statement. Leaning back in his seat, he studied the boy, Newt. Maybe it had been weird to ogle him the way Minho had, but he really was stunning. Up close, you could see how his hair flopped over his eyes, and the tiny sweeps of his eyelashes. It was hard to believe how ill he was. They must've had him using some strong medication.

The quiet stretched between them. The lonely sound of a clock ticking on the wall was the only thing to break the heavy air. Minho didn't like this at all, but he had no idea how to begin speaking to Newt. Newt had made it clear that he hadn't wanted anyone to visit him. Maybe this was a bad idea... Minho took a breath anyway. "So, what do you—?"

"Before you say anything else," Newt cut him off abruptly, "I want you to know that I know exactly how these things work."

Minho stared. "...huh?"

Newt huffed out a breath. "Listen. I know what guys like you do. You come in, ask me about my sickness, talk about me WITH me for however long it takes for me to die or miraculously be cured, and then you move on. Maybe you'll give me some kind of crap about how I shouldn't give up fighting or whatever, but it's all just to make my 'final moments' bearable. To make the whole process easier, I'll just tell you it all now: yes, I have the Flare, yes, it's fatal, I'll probably live for another year, if I'm lucky, yes, my family's all dead, yes, the Flare hurts, everything hurts, all the time, and no, I'm not depressed, I'm just in a very bad mood that 's lasted for the entire year I've been in here." After this little speech, he continued to glare at the floor like it had been the reason he was so annoyed.

Minho sat there with his mouth hanging slightly open for a few moments. He knew, right then, that he'd never met someone quite like Newt. He was, to put it frankly, a pain in the ass. But there was something there. Something captivating, something he saw in that violin case at the wall and in the heaviness of Newt's voice. He couldn't explain it, exactly. But it was real. Finally, he replied, "...I just wanted to know what you played."

Now, Newt glanced at him, finally, those blue eyes coming like a shock to your senses. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What I play?" he echoed.

Minho nodded. "I mean, I saw the case," he replied, pointing at that black instrument case.

Newt looked at it like he'd just noticed it was there. He hadn't expected someone to care about anything other than his sickness or how sad he was about it. "Oh," he said, maybe with a hint of embarrassment. "It's a violin."

"I thought so." Minho rested his elbows on the arms of the chair. "How long have you had it?"

"Um. Since I was eight. Or seven. I can't remember."

"Wow, so you must be really good."

"...I'm all right."

"Do you still play?"

"Not much. Sometimes, the Flare can give you episodes, I guess. My hands shake too much to play anything right."

"Oh, okay." Minho let it at that and a more comfortable silence claimed the room this time.

Newt studied Minho as though he'd never seen anything like him before. He looked like he couldn't decide whether he was irritated or not. "What're you doing?" he asked suddenly.

Minho's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, that's it? You just wanted to know about my violin?" Newt searched Minho's face for some kind of catch. "You don't care about the Flare or the tiny fact that I'm dying?"

Minho chuckled and simply said, "there's more to life than dying, Newt."

Now it was Newt's turn to stare.


	2. Chapter 2

-Here I am again, with a new chapter! Sorry these are so short, but I kinda like the length so far. There's more coming though, so don't worry! XD

Thank you all for such kind reviews. They always brighten my day. There's one guest reviewer on here who goes by "Your Reader." I'd like to thank you very much for all the reviews you've left on my stories. Your feedback is very appreciated and it means a lot to me that you'd take the time to write out such thoughtful reviews for me :)

All right, I'm done. Read, people!-

The next day found Minho in pretty much the same place, in a chair next to Newt's bed.

It was a bustling day at the hospital, or at least it seemed to be in the Flare wing. Nurses and doctors flashed back and forth outside Newt's door. A few patients were moving about too, dressed in the same pale blue. They exchanged hushed words and glances between red-rimmed eyes. A few of them offered Newt a smile as they passed his door. He always nodded back or gave them half a smile. It was a secret language that only Flare victims spoke, that you could only speak if you understood the hardships of such a disease.

Minho felt a little more relaxed today as he spoke to Newt. The blonde was definitely opening up to him a bit more, though he was careful to never ask about Newt's illness. The one thing Newt didn't want was pity. They were right in the middle of a conversation about an old, crazy violin instructor, when a curious thing happened. A doctor seemed to be about to pass by the room, but then he paused. He was young-looking, with short, dark hair and pine-green eyes. Handsome, even. He glanced in at Newt and Newt glanced back, and suddenly, the smirk they shared seemed to hold a heavier meaning. Then the moment was gone.

But Minho was now staring at Newt in surprise and puzzlement. Newt just gave him one of those half-lidded looks and shrugged. "What?" he asked drily. "It's called flirting. And yes, I'm gay."

"Oh. I see." Minho continued to study him for a few moments more. Then, inexplicably, he started laughing.

Newt arched an eyebrow at him. "What, you think it's funny?" he asked, a bit of sharpness entering his words.

"No, no," Minho replied, waving his hands in a denying gesture. A laughter-wide grin pulled at his lips. "It's just...such a coincidence."

"Coincidence?" Newt repeated confusedly.

"I'm gay too."

Newt's eyebrows shot up. "...oh." He rested his back more firmly against his pillows and crossed his arms. Studying Minho carefully, his gaze took in the broad shoulders and the hair spiked like jagged ink. "You don't look gay," he remarked.

Minho laughed again. "How am I supposed to LOOK gay?"

"I don't know, wear skinny jeans, try to look good all the time, talk like a girl." Newt shrugged defensively.

"Okay, first of all," Minho began with a playful grin, "I am wearing skinny jeans right now; they just aren't obnoxiously tight. Second of all, you should know by now that I try to look good all the time; have you seen my hair?" Newt snickered out loud at that one and Minho's grin widened. "And third of all, I will NEVER talk like a girl, no matter how gay I am."

Newt lifted his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, okay, point taken," he conceded. "You don't have to act like a girl to be gay."

"Exactly." Minho rested his back against his chair, satisfied with the mock-argument. He couldn't help but study Newt again, noticing his habit of curling his fingers into the sheets. Maybe there was some hidden pain nagging at him all the time. It made Minho's heart ache. He raised his eyes to Newt's face again. "So, do YOU actually do all that stuff?" he asked teasingly. He wanted to take his mind off thoughts of the Flare and Newt having it inside him right now.

"Oh god, of course not," Newt scoffed, as though it was the most revolting idea he'd ever heard of. Then his look of disgust faded into a more resigned one. "Well, I mean... Let's just say that if I wasn't all dressed up in this hospital crap and had my own clothes, you'd know I was gay."

They both broke into sniggers then, because who wouldn't laugh when imagining Newt all dressed up to look gay? Minho felt then like he was the only person in the world with Newt, as though everyone else had dropped away and left them alone. It was a wonderful, breathless feeling. He knew he'd never felt like that with anyone else, much less someone he'd known for only two days. But he felt like he'd known Newt for years, and that somehow, in some way, Newt knew him too.

Once their laughter had died, an easy quiet blanketed the room. Minho sat back in his chair and watched a few people pass by in the hallway. A smile lingered on Newt's face, as he studied his hands twisting the sheets into knots. Minho noticed and tilted his head to one side in curiosity. "Why do you do that?" he asked, gesturing to Newt's hands. "I always notice you doing it."

Newt looked up, eyebrows raised like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have. But then he simply shrugged with one shoulder. "I dunno. Sometimes, it helps. With the Flare, I mean, " he added, with a spared glance.

Minho knew Newt didn't like people asking about his illness, but at that moment, he couldn't help it. "Does anything hurt?" he asked, trying not to sound deathly serious.

"Once in a while, yeah," Newt answered, almost absently. "It gives you really bad headaches sometimes. But the hallucinations are worse. You can't even tell what's real or not. It's why they have me on so much medication, so that I'm not screaming about things crawling up the walls all the time."

Minho was shaken by the words, and the casual way Newt was saying them, but Newt didn't seem to notice. He went on, "anyway, it's the hallucinations that make me do the hand-thing. The medicine keeps them from coming, but it still messes with your vision a little. It hurts, like when you look at the sun for too long. Having something to hold on to helps me deal with it."

Minho's gaze fell from Newt's face back to his hands again, curled in the sheets. "I didn't know it was that bad..." he trailed off.

"You didn't know?" Newt snorted, not exactly in a mean way. "You knew when you came in here that I was dying. It's not exactly a stroll through the park.''

The understanding of it dawned on Minho then. He hadn't really gotten it before. Before, death had been an absent thing, a rumor whispered between people but never seen. Now, talking about Newt's sickness for the first time in a serious manner, it hit him. The boy sitting in front of him, the boy he'd known for two days and who already had him completely enraptured, was going to die. It was like a punch to the gut. He didn't know why, but he said quietly, "I'm sorry."

Newt bristled, much like he had that first day. "There's nothing for you to be sorry for," he pointed out. "You knew it would happen and so did I. Talking about it doesn't change anything. I shouldn't have said anything."

"There's nothing wrong with talking about it," Minho told him. "People talk about these things all the time."

"Well, I told you I didn't want to talk about it," Newt returned. "All I want is...is...hell, I don't even know." He pushed his bangs out of his face, rumpling them. "Just...drop it, okay?"

"Why?" Minho asked gently. He only wanted to make Newt's life easier.

"Because it's none of your business. You're not family, and you're not close to me."

"What if I want to be close to you?" Minho knew as soon as he asked it that it was a mistake. It had tumbled out of him before he could hold it back.

Newt glanced sharply at him, a flicker in his dark blue eyes. "What're you saying?" he asked slowly.

"Nothing." Minho's face burned in embarrassment. "Never mind. Forget I said it."

There was a long stretch of nothingness between them. The only sounds were their steady breathing and the droning beeps of medical equipment. Minho wanted to kick himself. Why had he even said such a thing? He didn't even know Newt! You can't want to be close to someone...in THAT way...when you hardly knew them...right?

After an infinite minute, Newt spoke, his words so hushed that Minho almost thought he'd heard him wrong. "I don't want to forget."


	3. Chapter 3

A week passed.

And throughout that week, Minho learned more and more about Newt. He learned he'd gone to high school right in the city and had passed with amazing grades. He'd been planning on going to college, and had gone for two years before he'd collapsed one day, his head bursting with fiery claws. After driving to the hospital, he'd been diagnosed with the Flare. That was where he'd been ever since. But there was more about Newt that Minho was told, more than just his illness. He learned that Newt's favorite color was silver, he'd won awards in school for his violin playing, he loved to read but not to write, he didn't have any pets, though he wanted them, and he'd never dated anyone because "most men are lying bastards and girls never appealed to him."

Minho had been right; he'd never met another person like Newt. He was funny in a way that could make you laugh yourself breathless with a single sentence. He was serious when he talked about things that were important to him and dreamy about others, like his music. The only time he was ever depressed was when someone mentioned his illness. He was like a sad song you had to keep listening to, because though it was heartbreaking, it was still beautiful.

It took only that week for Minho to become hopelessly taken with the stunning blonde. He couldn't help it. One glance from those gorgeous blue eyes could make his knees give out, and one snarky smirk could make his heart do backflips in his chest. He was giddy, a boy with a crush, cheerful and happy while he was visiting the hospital. The staff noticed and acted accordingly; they whispered behind hands about the volunteer and the patient, but Minho didn't care. He didn't care about anything anymore. Most days now, Newt and Minho would take walks through the hospital's hallways to the cafeteria or the vast room used for chess games and other activities for long-term patients. There were times, during these walks, when Minho would look at Newt and think: I have to tell him. I really should tell him. But then the moment would pass and the confession would die on his tongue.

One of those moments occurred during a particularly entertaining conversation on the way back to Newt's room. They were just starting back the long hallway again, Newt in his usual hospital clothes and Minho in jeans and his favorite, blue hoodie. They were discussing boys the way teenage girls did in high school.

"So what's your type?" Minho asked conversationally. He walked with his hands in his hoodie pocket, slow and leisurely. He wanted to take his time getting back to Newt's dull room.

Newt raised an eyebrow at him. "My type?" he echoed.

"Yeah," Minho replied. "You know, your type. The type of guy you'd wanna date."

"Oh. Crap. I don't think I have one."

"What do you mean? Everyone has one."

"I've never dated anyone before, genius. How am I supposed to know if I have a type?"

Minho chuckled. "Okay, point taken," he conceded. "But you do have one, even if you don't know it." At Newt's disbelieving look, he flashed a mischievous smile. "Oh, come on. You gotta give me something here."

"I got nothing," Newt replied flatly.

"All right." Minho thought for a second. "Which do you prefer then: the usual blonde-and-blue-eyes, or Tall, Dark, and Handsome?"

Newt wrinkled his nose. "Are those the only two kinds of men people like in the world? Because if they are, redheads are screwed."

Minho snickered and bumped Newt with his elbow. "Okay, sorry, I'll add Redhead to the list. Now pick one."

"Hmm." Newt took on a more playful tone then. He thought, gazing off down the hallway ahead. "Tall, Dark, and Handsome," he answered at last, in that simple way of his.

"Okay, we have a start," Minho declared. He received a mock-glare in response, which was cheerfully ignored. "Anything more specific than that?"

"More specific? What is this, a quiz?" Newt snorted.

"I'm just curious," Minho protested, shrugging.

"Okay, okay. Let me think." Newt scratched the side of his head as he rolled the question around in his mind, ruffling his hair. He took a breath. "Black hair. And dark eyes."

Minho felt an unexpected burst of delight in his chest. He immediately scolded his heart for acting like it belonged to an eleven-year-old girl. So the description sounded a little familiar. It didn't mean anything. It probably meant nothing at all. "Oh," he said out loud. "Interesting."

Newt glanced at him and a teasing curve tilted his lips up. "So what about you?" he asked. "What's your type?" His voice held something in it, as though this was a great inside joke they were sharing.

Minho couldn't help but grin roguishly. "Blonde-and-blue-eyes," he answered. There was no hiding the familiarity in those words.

Newt tossed him a lazy smirk then and Minho flashed one right back. In that instant, with their gazes meeting, the secret was held between them like a raindrop suspended from a leaf. Just one side needed to tip. Minho's stomach twisted with butterflies. He thought he'd say it then. A single sentence was all it would take: Newt, I have feelings for you.

Newt, I can't think when I'm around you.

Newt, I think I'm falling for you.

But he didn't say any of those things. He kept his silence, as he had countless times before. It was too dangerous, standing on the edge and looking down. He couldn't take that risk yet.

They were a couple feet away from Newt's room when it happened. There was no one reason it happened, but a combination of many reasons. It was the narrowness of the hallway, and Newt's feet stumbling over each other, and Minho's reflexes. With a little gasp, Newt tripped, and faster than a blink, Minho caught him up against himself. Time froze. Minho knew he could've let go at any moment, but he didn't. He heard Newt mumble a thank-you, but instead of moving away, Minho pulled the blonde a millimeter closer. Newt was up against his chest, Minho's arm secure around his slim waist, and his hands placed instinctively on Minho's shoulders. Blinking, he lifted those smoky blue eyes to Minho's face.

Minho had never felt Newt's body on his like this. Every lean flex of muscle, the languid curve of his lower back, the gentle press of his chest on Minho's. A shiver ran the entire way down Minho's spine. His gaze dropped to Newt's mouth. There was nothing he wanted more in this world than to kiss Newt right now, kiss him the way he'd wanted to kiss him since the first moment they'd met. Kiss him until Newt would forget everything but Minho's name.

In that shred of time, with their hearts beating inches apart, they knew, without any doubt, that they were born for each other.

But then Newt's gaze slid away and the moment was over. He cleared his throat. "Um. Thanks," he muttered again. "Guess I should watch where I'm going, huh?"

"Y—yeah," Minho stammered in reply. He could sense Newt retreating and it made him ache inside. "No problem."

With a firm hold on Minho's shoulders, Newt stepped out of the embrace. Maybe it was Minho's imagination, but he thought Newt looked slightly breathless. Newt shook his head. "I'd better get back in there," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the door. "There's always more medicine to take."

"Okay. I should get going too." It wasn't what Minho wanted to say. He wanted to say, come back, just for a few more minutes, I just wanna hold you.

But he didn't.

Newt smiled a small smile. "Bye, Minho," he said quietly. His words held every feeling he wasn't saying out loud.

Minho smiled back. "Bye, Newt."

His entire world was crumbling around him.


	4. Chapter 4

-Oh my god. You guys are gonna love this chapter. Seriously, it was too cute, even for me. Thank you for all of your support for this story. The reviews make my day so much happier and always inspire me to keep writing new chapters. I can't believe that I already have 21 reviews for a story with so few chapters. You guys are all great. Seriously. I love you all XD

Okay, I think I'm done with this author's note now. Enjoy your Minewt now :)-

It was Friday.

And it was the first time Minho had ever heard Newt play.

He remembered walking into the hospital and saying hello to Brenda, the way he always did when she was there. He started toward the hall that led to the Flare patients, hands shoved into the pockets of his black jacket; he wore it partly unzipped, with a white tee on underneath. Just as he was about to reach the first door, a strange sound hit him. He paused. It was something soft and sweet, but it wasn't coming from anywhere near him. Turning, he realized it was coming from the vast room where patients could go and talk to one another.

Curious, Minho made his way over and stopped. He stood in the doorway and glanced inside. The room was large, and warm with yellow walls. TVs were placed in corners and tables were set up for games. A line of chess pieces stood, watching, at one table. But no one was playing with any of these things. Patients young and old, in various stages of the Flare, were all gathered in the center of the room. Their chairs had been pushed into a rough semicircle. They were watching something with rapture in their lined faces. Minho followed their gazes and found the source of the sound. His breath left him.

Newt was standing at the back of the room. The back wall was nothing but windows and it gave him a lovely backdrop of sunlight, turning his hair to golden flame. He was holding a sleekly-curving violin at one shoulder, cradling it as though it was a precious treasure. Eyelids lowered, he slowly drew an elegant bow along the strings. The high, heart-breaking sound of the instrument flooded the room. It was a slow, beautiful song, hinting at untold stories of sadness, and love, and forgotten things. A few people were wiping tears from their eyes.

Minho leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, dazed. He'd never heard music like this before. The kind of music that went straight through your soul, the whole way to your heart and stayed there. And Newt, his Newt, was the one making it. He admired the blonde's slim, musician's fingers as they danced over the delicate strings. What he wouldn't give to feel those fingers threading into his hair. He closed his eyes and imagined it for one moment. Imagined that he would wait until the song ended, and stride right across the room and say what he'd wanted to say for forever; and Newt would say it back, and, right in front of all these people, Minho would kiss him.

Fantasies were so much better than reality.

The reality: Minho did nothing when the song ended. He opened his eyes and watched the patients applaud, some even weeping. He watched Newt smile a humble half-smile, and nod his thanks. He watched another boy with dark-chocolate-brown hair and dressed in patient's white walk up to Newt. And smile widely before he placed a kiss on Newt's cheek. Newt's eyes widened, and he seemed uncomfortable. But everyone else loved it, and they cheered. So he smiled for them and the dark-haired boy blushed delightedly.

Minho felt the floor drop out from under him.

Awful, heartbreaking agony ripped at his heart, and behind it came a jealousy so fierce, it was like flames leaped up his throat. How dare this boy touch Newt, even THINK of touching Newt. What was Newt thinking, letting him do that? This boy was a—another patient! He didn't visit Newt everyday, or talk to him about his whole life, or dream about him at night. He didn't smile when Newt made a bad joke, or catch Newt when he fell. He was just some...some guy that thought he could take Newt from Minho without a second thought.

That was when Minho remembered. His shoulders slumped. He'd forgotten that he'd never told Newt. Not once did he say out loud what he felt for the beautiful blonde. Sure, he was Newt's best friend. But that was it. Minho didn't have any sort of claim on Newt, because Newt had never said he felt the same. And he hadn't said that because Minho had never confessed.

So Minho watched sadly as that dark-haired boy laughed and said something to Newt that made Newt smile. He willed Newt to hear his thoughts: Not him. Don't choose him. Choose me.

Newt finally glanced up then, and his eyes met Minho's across the room. Something lit up in them, and he raised his eyebrows as though to ask, how was it?

Minho smirked back teasingly and shrugged: eh, I would've played the shit out of that thing.

Newt chuckled, shaking his head. The sunlight spilling in behind him caressed his golden skin with soft fingers and brightened the blue of his eyes.

Minho stared at him dizzily. I'm in love with him, he thought. It was too late now for him to save his heart, or himself. Newt already owned him. He was giddily breathless with this new revelation as Newt weaved his way across the room. Stopping in front of Minho, Newt held his violin carefully and arched an eyebrow. "Well?"

"I think I could've done better," Minho replied, with a touch of humor. "You made people cry."

Newt snorted. "I didn't see YOU crying."

"I have a heart of steel."

"Aw, shut up." Newt gave Minho a light push in the shoulder and sent him one of those impish smirks. Of course, Minho's knees went weak at the sight. Then Newt nodded his head toward the open doorway. "C'mon," he said, voice warm. "I wanna show you something."

Minho's jealousy was swept away by that one sentence. "Okay." He followed Newt out into the hallway. The blonde headed straight back to his own room and stepped inside. Minho trailed behind, wondering what it was Newt wanted to show him. An open instrument case sat on the bed, lonely and empty. Newt paused and then climbed onto the mattress to sit in the center of the bed. He crossed his legs and set his violin on his shoulder once more. "I found this song yesterday and had to learn it," he told Minho. "It reminds of you, in a way. Let me know what you think, okay?"

Minho grinned foolishly, happy and hopelessly smitten with everything Newt did. "No problem," he replied.

"Shut the door," Newt said, as he lifted his bow. "I don't want people to come after me to hear more."

Minho snickered at that. He pushed the door shut with a click, then leaned back against it. Newt's eyelids drooped again as he looked down at the strings of his beloved instrument. With practiced care, he placed his bow at the first note. It was low, and intimate-sounding at first, sending shivers through the air. It made Minho's grin fade away entirely. Gradually, the song climbed higher, grew more passionate and rippling in the little room. Newt's eyes closed as he played. Minho couldn't believe that he'd picked a song like this to describe Minho. It was just so slow and so beautiful. It had to be a love song. At the end, the notes rose even higher, turning sweet and soft. They reverberated in the still air for a moment more before falling silent. Newt was still for a second. Then he gave a nervous laugh and lifted his violin off his shoulder.

"It's not the best I've played it..."

"It's beautiful."

Newt glanced up at Minho then. Something in Minho's expression must've hit him because he quickly dropped his gaze again. "Thank you," he murmured. He turned and reached out to drag his instrument case across the bed to him. Bringing it up onto his lap, he placed his violin inside, along with the bow. Minho loved the gentle way Newt handled the instrument. Then Newt shut the case and pushed it to the side of the bed again.

"So you picked that song for me?" Minho asked, pushing off from the door.

Newt nodded. "Yeah. Don't act all smug now."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Minho grinned, and made his way across the room to stand beside the bed. He studied the closed violin case. "I didn't know you could play that well."

"I'm surprised I even remembered," Newt replied absently. "It's been too long since I played anything."

"Well, you're still brilliant." Minho paused. "What was the song? The one you played for me, I mean?"

"Oh. Um." Newt ran one hand casually through his hair as he spoke, as though the title didn't mean anything. "Love Me Like You Do, by Ellie Goulding, I think." He studied the sheets under him like this wasn't the most important moment of Minho's life.

Minho's lips parted in shock. Love Me Like You Do? It had been a love song. A love song that reminded Newt of Minho. Minho's gaze slid down to his shoes. Did this mean Newt liked him as something more than a friend? Did this mean Newt was...in love with him? Minho couldn't stop it anymore. All the little feelings were spilling out of him and piling up, and he couldn't see through them. His heart felt like it'd been opened and everything he'd been trying to hold back came tumbling out. He wanted Newt. He needed Newt.

He raised his eyes to Newt's flawless face again, and his heart wilted. Newt looked up at him, brow furrowing in confusion. "What?" he asked at Minho's silence. When Minho just stood there, his hands trembling, Newt's tone changed. "Minho, what is it?" He searched Minho's expression. He must've seen the emotion, the look in Minho's eyes, because his own eyes darkened. "Minho."

Suddenly, thoughtlessly, Minho rushed forward and Newt reached up to catch the back of his neck, and they were kissing. They were kissing, and kissing, and little gasps and whimpers left their throats, and Minho was drowning. He had one hand braced on the mattress, the other buried deep in that silken, blonde hair. Newt's hand seared his neck with heat, the desperate pressure of his fingers digging into Minho's skin. He parted Minho's lips with his own and angled his head. Minho felt the addictive, hot touch of Newt's tongue and groaned into his mouth. Wave after wave of pleasure left him dizzy. He'd never felt like this with anyone.

Making a sound he'd never made before, Newt brought both hands up to Minho's neck. Unfolding his legs, he leaned backward and dragged Minho with him. They sank into the mattress together, Minho's body held over Newt's. They were at a hospital. They could be caught. They didn't care. The kisses only became more hungry, more pleading. Minho had to use his arms to hold himself off of Newt, but Newt's hands were free to touch Minho all he wanted. Minho had never felt Newt's hands on him like this before. They slid down to his jacket zipper, tugging it down the rest of the way. And then they were inside his jacket, and under his shirt, splayed over his sides. Newt's fingers were blessedly cool on Minho's hot skin and it made him lose his mind. He felt Newt's hands slide up to feel the toned ripple of his abs and Newt gasped into his mouth.

They both broke apart at the same time, gasping for air. Minho's entire body buzzed from that kiss, and he was drunk with the way Newt touched him. Finally, finally, he had Newt to himself and no one else. He looked at Newt underneath him, marveling at how Newt was deliciously breathless, his eyes glazed over with desire. The blonde shook his head. "You...you made an awful choice," he breathed out. "You shouldn't have chosen me, Minho. I'm not good for you."

Minho lifted a hand and cupped Newt's cheek. His thumb stroked the place under Newt's eye. "Sweetheart, I'd never want to choose anyone else," he murmured.

Newt closed his eyes and turned his face away. "I have the Flare, Minho," he said lowly. "I'm dying."

Minho's chest tightened. "I don't care," he insisted stubbornly.

"You will."

"Oh well."

"I'm a sarcastic, irritable, dying patient. I'm not right for you."

"You're perfect for me."

"Shut up."

"No."

"You're impossible."

"I'm in love with you."

Newt stopped and looked up at Minho, the teasing draining out of him. "W—what?" he asked in a whisper.

Minho let out a breath and closed his eyes. "I'm in love with you," he repeated softly. "I've been in love with you since the first time I saw you."

Newt blinked. "But Minho—"

"I don't care if you're not what's best for me," Minho went on pleadingly. "I don't care if you snapped at me the first day. I don't even care that you're sick. I love you, and I've loved you since the moment you said my name." He kissed the tip of Newt's nose. "And don't pretend you don't love me too," he whispered.

Newt growled in defeat, as though he'd been caught. "Don't act all...cocky," he stammered comically, trying to think of the right word. "Okay. Fine. I love you, you shank, how could I NOT love you? You volunteer at hospitals, you listen to all my problems, and you're so damn HOT, I can't think straight. Speaking of which," he added, "you gotta get off of me, or I'm not gonna be able to talk."

Minho laughed, high on the whole, wonderful thing. He kissed Newt's forehead so he'd sigh in bliss and then kissed his neck so he'd make another, less-chaste sound. Then Minho slid off of Newt and straightened up again beside the bed. He zipped up his jacket halfway again, remembering with a little thrill how Newt had had his hands up his shirt moments before. Watching Newt sit up in bed, he noticed the blonde's chest rising and falling unevenly. He absolutely loved how wrecked Newt looked, flustered and with his hair mussed. It made Minho even more happy to know that this person was finally his.

"So." Minho slung his thumbs in his pockets and grinned widely down at Newt.

Newt glared up at him in mock anger. "So what?"

"You love me," Minho chirped.

Newt blushed delightedly. "Shut up."

"You loooove me."

"SHUT UP."

"You think I'm HOT."

"I will throw something at you, Minho." But he didn't.

He just grabbed for the front of Minho's jacket and kissed him again.


	5. Chapter 5

-Yay, new chapter! Ok, before you read this, don't hate me. There is a tense moment in this and you'll know when you get there, and for a while, you're gonna want to kill me. But don't worry, the ending of this chapter is still happy. I swear, you'll like the story again! XD

Reviews are always appreciated and you all are so sweet to leave this many for my little story. Thank you so much and I hope to hear from you again.

See you in the next chapter! :)-

Newt was not a very nice person.

Well, sure, he respected people and tried to not act like a complete asshole to them. He wasn't going to act like a jerk to the other patients here. Some of them had been crippled by disease and others were so deep in the Flare, they couldn't see straight. So he was never rude to them, never even thought of doing anything that wasn't good for them. The same went for a few chosen members of the hospital staff, Brenda being one of them. She understood that his sarcasm was nothing more than a way to keep his mind off the disease crawling through his mind. And she was sarcastic right back.

Newt wasn't like this with other people though. Especially with guys. He was sarcastic as hell with them. He didn't want anyone to get close to him. He was nothing more than a temporary distraction to them, something that could keep them happy for a while, but would only break their heart in the end. He had the Flare. A fatal strain of it. He would die, and it would take just a year to end his life. When it happened, he didn't intend for anyone to be hurt by it. That included himself. He wouldn't be friends with anyone, wouldn't care too much about anyone. He would numb himself to emotion. Then he'd be safe from heartbreak.

And now?

Now he was utterly, helplessly in love.

With Minho Park.

The first time Newt heard Minho, he was out in the hall, talking with Brenda. Newt had thought, oh great, here comes another one. He'd had four visitors before and all of them had stormed out of the hospital, fuming. He couldn't help it; all they ever did was go on and on and ON about how AWFUL it was that he had this horrible illness. Talking about the damn weather would've been more interesting to him. So no, he wasn't too hopeful about this new visitor.

But the first time he SAW Minho, he thought, ...holy shit.

Minho was the most gorgeous thing Newt had ever seen. He had lovely, sooty hair spiked into a jagged sweep; warm, dark eyes flecked with gold. His skin was flawless and olive-toned. He had broad shoulders and a more slender waist, and every movement he made hinted at muscle. When he walked in and smiled that crooked smile, it sent little flutters into Newt's heartbeat. He'd felt so plain and sickly compared to Minho. How could he possibly make a good impression at all on this guy? He was living, breathing perfection and Newt was...Newt.

But he must have done something right. Because after that day, when he'd played the violin, Minho had looked at him like he never had before. And he'd kissed Newt. Finally, he'd kissed Newt. Newt would never admit it, but he'd been dreaming of that moment for so long now. Sometimes, when he was alone in the hospital at night, he remembered how it felt: Minho's lips soft on his, his fingers in Newt's hair, his body over Newt's. It was enough to make Newt's heartbeat quicken and a goofy smile spread over his face.

He'd never been in love before.

God, it was such a drug.

It was Friday when Brenda came in to give him his medication. Newt was sitting up in bed, fingering the sheets at his waist. He'd been reading a book earlier, but had set it down after only a few minutes. Living at a hospital was hopelessly boring. Newt wished Minho was there. But Minho wouldn't be coming until a little while later. Please get here soon, Newt thought. He wanted to talk to Minho again. He wanted to hold him again. Even if it might be one of the last times.

"Hi, Newt!" Brenda greeted, as she wheeled a silver tray in through the door. She wore her mahogany hair back today, secured with a hot pink hair band. "How're you feeling today?"

"Just as crappy as usual," Newt answered, with the sarcasm that Brenda had grown used to. He closed his eyes briefly and willed the perpetual dizziness away.

"Good to hear," Brenda replied good-humoredly. "Minho's coming by again today, isn't he?"

Newt nodded. He tried not to smile.

"That's sweet. He's been coming around a lot lately."

"Uh-huh."

Brenda stopped the tray beside the bed and started to pick up a pair of gloves. On top of the tray, a row of syringes sat. "Anything, uh...going on?" she asked slowly.

Newt's heartbeat skipped. "...maybe," he admitted.

"Oh my god, are you serious?" Brenda was grinning now.

"He kinda..." Newt trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "...kissed me."

"Yes!" she cheered, pumping one fist in the air. "I knew you were gonna like him; he's such a sweetheart. And so handsome, too."

Newt smiled down at his hands in his lap. "Yeah."

"I'm very happy for you, Newt. You deserve someone like him." Brenda beamed at him for a few moments more. Then she tugged on her gloves and reached for a bottle of antiseptic. "All right," she went on, dabbing a cottony piece of gauze in the liquid, "you know the drill. Give me an arm, please."

Newt lost some of his lightheartedness. He held out his left arm to her, palm up. Icy coolness seared his skin as she rubbed in the antiseptic. Then she stretched over the tray to grab a syringe on the far end. The medication inside was a pale, turquoise color, like light blue glass. After checking the needle like she normally did, Brenda positioned it over Newt's skin. Newt felt a sharp prick as the needle slid in. He watched her push down the plunger and empty out the contents into his bloodstream. Maybe this time, the medicine will work better, he thought. Maybe, by some miracle, he would be cured.

Maybe he could be with Minho.

"Okay, all done!" Brenda slipped the needle out again and patched up Newt's arm with some gauze. "Looking good, Newton, if I do say so myself."

"Thanks."

"Oh, and there's a new experimental cure being shipped in next week. Anyone who wants to try it can go ahead. We might have a winner, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Kinda quiet today?"

"..." Newt stared down at his hands again. A tiny throb had started in the back of his head. It felt as though something was inside there, clawing to get out. "I'm fine," he reassured her. He glanced up at her concerned face and forced a smile. "Really. I'm just tired, I guess."

"Oh." Brenda grabbed the tray and started to wheel it out again. She paused. "If you wanna take a nap or something, I can tell Minho not to come today."

"No," Newt answered too quickly. He took a breath. "No. Um. I want him to come."

"Okay. I'll see you later then." Brenda gave him one last smile and then she pushed the tray out the door. She made sure to shut it softly behind her as she did.

In the remaining silence, Newt focused on not letting the room spin. The ache at the back of his head had stopped nagging so much, but now it was settling there. He was going to have a headache for a long while. Resting his head back against the pillows, he closed his eyes. He remembered what Brenda had said earlier, that Newt deserved someone like Minho. He swallowed hard. He didn't deserve Minho. And Minho didn't deserve someone like him. He was sick. He was dying. Minho was going to be brokenhearted and devastated. He would curse the day he ever dared to fall in love with Newt. Newt didn't want that. The last thing he ever wanted was to hurt Minho. If he cared about Minho, really cared about him, he'd let him go.

Newt wondered if he was strong enough.

There was a quiet knock at the door then, a tentative request for an invitation. Without opening his eyes, Newt called, "come in." He heard the door click open and then closed. Footsteps approached, almost cautiously. Then he heard HIS voice.

"...you asleep?"

Newt wanted to melt when he heard that voice, so low and smooth and beautiful. He sighed. "Not yet," he murmured. "Gotta headache. Won't let me sleep."

"That sucks."

Newt hummed in reply.

"Do you...want me to leave so you can sleep?"

Newt opened his eyes then and lifted his head. Minho was standing next to the bed, about a foot away. He was studying Newt with concern in his face. He looked adorable in a soft, charcoal-gray hoodie, yet sexy in his hip-clinging jeans. How could someone be adorable and sexy at the same time? Newt smiled slightly. "I don't want you to leave," he murmured.

"Oh. Okay." Minho dropped his eyes to the floor, a silly grin threatening to surface on his face. "Okay." It was a shock to see him acting so bashful.

Newt couldn't believe that he had the power to make another person so happy. "Minho," he called and Minho glanced up at him. "C'mere."

Minho's grin broadened as he came to Newt's bedside. He'd hardly made it there before Newt sat up and grabbed Minho by the hoodie. Dragging him down, Newt closed his eyes as his mouth brushed Minho's. It was just as addictive as he remembered. Minho kissed him back softly, bringing one hand up to cup Newt's face. Newt felt Minho's fingers slipping up into his hair, his thumb staying just on Newt's neck. He wondered if Minho could feel his racing pulse. They pulled back after a few moments, their breathing slightly uneven. Newt gazed up into Minho's deep mahogany eyes. He longed to lose himself in them.

Minho's lips tipped up tenderly. He stroked one hand over Newt's hair. "I love you," he murmured.

Newt felt the unrestrained joy of it in his heart, along with the pain. It was too dangerous to love him. It was awful to love him. So when he replied to Minho, he said the worst thing ever. "I know."

Minho blinked and gave Newt a funny look. "You're not gonna say you love me back?" he asked, puzzled, but still playful.

Newt turned away and fixed his gaze on the sheets beneath him. "Minho...there's something I need to tell you," he confessed. "I've never told anyone it before."

"Okay." Minho stepped back and took his usual seat next to Newt's bed. He still looked confused at the way Newt had kissed him, yet hadn't said, I love you. He settled back against his chair and waited patiently.

Newt's head still ached. He took a breath. "I told everybody here that my parents died in a car crash," he began. "I bet Brenda told you that before you came in here the first time."

Minho nodded. "Yeah. I remember that."

"It's not true."

Minho's eyebrows rose. "What do you mean?"

"My parents never died in a car crash," Newt explained. "It was just easier for me to say that. The truth is a lot worse. If people knew it, they'd know how sick I really am and they'd never want to come see me." He paused to rub at his temple with three fingers. Hopefully, the medicine would hurry up and kick in soon. "My parents had the Flare," he admitted. "The same strain that I have now. They went through a lot of experimental drugs and treatments, but it only bought them more time. It was going to kill them, in the end." He paused to close his eyes. Damn headache. "So...one day, the doctors suggested that they go back home. They sent loads of medication with them and they were told to take it every day. The doctors wanted to see if being around a familiar environment would help them at all. The house was built near the edge of a cliff, that led down to a river. I wasn't even allowed to play outside near that cliff when I was little."

Minho was silent, listening. His gaze never left Newt's face. Newt exhaled wearily. "The medicine didn't work. After a couple of months, the Flare had progressed so much, that my parents didn't even remember who I was. They hallucinated things that weren't there. One day, they thought that...wild dogs were chasing them. I know because they told me to run from them when they left the house. I knew the cliff was there. They ran right over the edge."

In the following quiet, Minho stared at Newt in a mixture of sadness and pain. Newt opened his eyes again and saw the expression on Minho's face. "The Flare killed my parents," Newt told him solemnly. "The same exact strain of it that I have right now."

"Newt...I'm so sorry," Minho said quietly. "If I'd known—"

"But you didn't know," Newt cut him off. "I didn't want you to know. Because then you'd see how screwed I am, with two parents who died from the same sickness I have. There's no way out of this for me, Minho. I need you to know that now."

"Why?" Minho asked. "Why now?"

Newt shut his eyes. "Because I didn't mean anything to you before. You weren't in love with me before." He speared his fingers through his hair in growing frustration. "You shouldn't feel anything for me. You should leave, right now, and never come back."

"I can't," Minho replied in a thick voice. "Newt, I can't. I told you, I don't care that you have the Flare."

"But you're going to," Newt flashed back. "You'll care when I don't remember your name, when I don't even remember who I am. Or maybe I'll get lucky and remember every damn thing while I lie here, and you'll watch me die. You'll see every sickening, horrible part of it."

"I don't care," Minho repeated. "I'm willing to go through all of that for you. You're worth it, Newt."

"No, I'm not," Newt insisted. He willed Minho to understand, even though this hurt like hell. "What kind of life did you want with me, Minho? A year in hell, and then you can move on after?"

"I never saw it like that," Minho mumbled, scolded and beginning to look heartbroken.

"Oh, and how did you see it, then, huh?"

"A year in heaven."

Newt stopped in surprise. At first, he stared at Minho, this person who was unbelievably stubborn and even more in love with him. Minho, who was kind, smart, and beautiful. Who needed someone more like him to keep for the rest of his life. Newt felt the hard coldness sink into his heart. He hated it. But he welcomed it. "Get out."

Minho lifted his head and his eyes widened. "What?"

"I said, get out." Newt refused to let his voice waver. "I don't wanna do this anymore."

"N—Newt," Minho stammered. "Please, don't do this."

"Too late. I'm doing it. Leave. Don't come back."

"Newt, angel, please."

"No!" Newt turned away, looking at the wall opposite Minho. Tears stung the backs of his eyes. "Just get out of here already. Tell Brenda I want someone else."

"...you don't...want me anymore?"

Newt felt a tear escape down his cheek. He couldn't let Minho see it. "No," he growled, "I don't."

He heard Minho make a sound then, something like a sob. "Newt..." He didn't say anything else. Footsteps came then as he stood up and walked to the door. The door opened. There was a pause. Newt waited, his heart shattering into a million pieces. Then the door closed again.

Newt sat there in the quiet. An absolutely horrible feeling of loneliness fell over him. The tears burning in his eyes began to spill out, running down his face in hot tracks. Drawing his knees up, he curled in on himself, hugging his legs. Finally, he began to cry. For the first time in his entire life since being diagnosed, Newt cried. He buried his face in his arms and let the tears soak his skin. This was it. He was ruined. He had done a shitty job of protecting himself. He loved Minho, and he didn't think he'd ever be able to love again. "Minho," he sobbed chokingly. But Minho didn't come back.

What have I done? he thought, a bolt of panic striking his heart. Oh god, what have I done? And that was when Newt realized the truth. The truth that was still there, no matter how many people he pushed away or how many times he rejected sympathy.

The truth was this: Newt was afraid to die alone.

Suddenly, he threw the sheets off and scrambled out of bed. His bare feet hit the floor, but he didn't pause to find shoes. He ran for the door and wrenched it open. Frantically, he dashed into the hallway and tore down toward the lobby. Doctors and nurses cried out to him as he passed, concern in their faces. But he didn't slow down. His head protested, throbbing painfully, but he didn't stop running. He raced the entire way down the hall, doors flashing past and the walls turning into a white blur. Up ahead, he glimpsed a figure in charcoal-gray. Minho was near the end of the hall, his hands shoved into his pockets. Newt's pulse jumped with hope. "Minho!"

Minho halted and turned. His eyes went round. "Newt? What—?"

He didn't make it any farther because that was when Newt crashed into him. Newt threw his arms around Minho's shoulders and crushed his body into Minho's. The reassuring warmth was so familiar and so missed already that it brought more tears to his eyes. "I'm sorry," he cried, his face buried in Minho's chest. "I'm sorry. I don't want you to leave, please."

Minho wrapped his arms around Newt's middle and hugged him close. "Thank God," he whispered hoarsely. "I thought I'd never see you again. I—I thought—" He broke off with a tiny whimper, nuzzling Newt's hair.

"I love you," Newt gasped. "I love you so much. No matter how long my life is, I want to spend it with you."

Minho let out a half-sob, half-laugh of joy. Keeping his arms secure around Newt's waist, he lifted him up against Minho's chest. Newt's feet left the floor as Minho kissed him, long and hard and deep. Newt knew they were in a hallway and people could see them. He thought, screw them. He looped his legs around Minho's hips and and sank his fingers into velvety, black hair. He kissed back just as wildly, finding Minho's tongue with his. The sugary taste left him lightheaded and he whined into Minho's mouth. He needed this. He needed him.

Minho backed up into a wall, keeping Newt against him the whole time. Once he reached it, he broke the kiss, panting heavily. His eyes travelled over the blonde with pure, unbridled adoration. It was enough to make Newt shiver. How was it possible that someone else was this devoted to him, even with all his flaws? Minho brushed his nose against Newt's affectionately. "God, you're my whole life," he breathed. "Anything you wanted, you could ask for, and I couldn't say no to you. You own me, Newt. I'm yours."

The words only made Newt fall even deeper in love with him and he wanted Minho, more than anything. Tightening his hold in Minho's hair, he left tiny, pleading kisses on Minho's nose and mouth. "Minho," he gasped between kisses. "Minho, Minho..."

Minho laughed giddily and drew back. "Newt," he chuckled, "we're in a hallway."

"Don't care." Newt nipped at Minho's bottom lip.

"Newt, sweetheart." Minho blushed self-consciously. "People can see us."

Newt paused. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a couple of nurses and patients gawking at them in varying levels of surprise and faint discomfort. Newt felt his face grow hot. "Oh." He cleared his throat. "Well. You can put me down now."

Minho grinned broadly. He waited for Newt to remove his legs from Minho's waist and gently set the blonde down on the floor. He started to step back, and was surprised when Newt caught the front of his hoodie. Newt kept himself hidden in the safe security of Minho's broad chest. How embarrassing, to be caught making out in the middle of the hall. What was he thinking? He gave a mortified little groan and dropped his forehead against Minho's chest. Minho's body vibrated with his dark chuckle. "Why, Newt, are you blushing?"

"Be quiet." Newt decided to just stay here for a while. He inhaled the lovely, dark smell of Minho's cologne. Yes, just stay here until everyone stopped staring.

And then they started clapping. All of them, the nurses, the patients, everyone who was close enough to see, started clapping. A few of them wolf-whistled and others cheered. They were all smiling. All because they'd seen a healthy, gorgeous volunteer choose, out of all the people in the world, a sickly, slim patient. The applause surged and pulsed.

Newt raised his head from Minho's collarbone and looked back at all the smiling faces in shock. Maybe more people had loved him than he thought. He rubbed the back of his neck and offered a sheepish smile. Minho grinned outright and hugged Newt against him with an arm around his waist. Newt stood there, and drank in the presence of Minho, and the feel of this golden moment around him.

He'd never known how much he had to live for.


	6. Chapter 6

-Yayy! Another chapter! Thanks again for all of the lovely reviews. They mean so much to me :) I really hope you enjoy this chapter, because I know I enjoyed writing it. Let me know why you think!-

Thursday evening.

Newt, with a slightly-shy Minho at his side, marched straight up to the front desk of the hospital and rested his elbows on its mint-green surface. "I want a day off," he announced importantly.

The woman working the desk that day, a plump, curly-haired redhead, raised her eyebrows at him. "Um...sir, you're...you don't work here," she told him uncertainly. She worded everything like it was a question. "You're a patient."

"Yes, yes I am," Newt agreed, fingering the sleeve of his patient's scrubs. "But I want a day off, away from this place. So I'm gonna need my real clothes. I think I dropped them off up here with Brenda the first day...?"

The woman continued to stare at him with no comprehension. "I'm...sorry, but we don't allow patients to leave without a guardian. And even then, it depends on the condition they're in."

"Well, lucky for you, I gotta guardian." Newt reached over and tugged pointedly at Minho's shirtsleeve. Even that tiny contact sent tingles up Minho's arm. "And I'm in pretty good condition," Newt went on, "considering I haven't seen any hallucinations today."

Minho mentally slapped himself in the forehead. They were never going to get out of here.

"I see..." the woman trailed off uneasily. She studied Newt through her glasses. "And what medical condition do you have?"

Newt tossed out the words as though he didn't care where they landed. "The Flare."

The woman's eyes widened. "Ah. Well. I'm sorry but Flare patients are prohibited from leaving the hospital."

"Not even if it's my dying wish?"

"You're not dying right now, are you?"

"Actually, yes, but it's hard to tell, isn't it?"

Minho closed his eyes and prayed for strength.

The woman huffed indignantly at having her sarcasm matched by a snarky little blonde. "I'm sorry, sir, but you're not allowed to leave," she repeated. "Are there any other 'dying wishes' you need granted today?"

"Actually, yes," Newt answered quickly. "I was going to handle most of them myself, but since I can't leave, I guess I'll have to do them here somehow." He began to rattle them off, counting on his fingers. "Let's see, I'd like to eat expensive, Italian food, visit the U.K., play violin for strangers on the street, drink my first glass of wine in GOD knows how long, have sex, preferably with him—" Minho flushed when Newt jerked a thumb at him, his lips parting in shock at the audacity of the blonde; there were no limits to Newt's attitude. "—see Fifty Shades of Gray at the movie theater, annnd buy myself a flat screen TV." Once finished, he smiled at the dumbstruck woman with sickly sweetness. "I might need some help from you with the whole travel-to-the-U.K.-thing."

The woman was effectively rendered speechless. "Uh...you..."

Suddenly, a new, more familiar voice joined the conversation: "Oh, for God's sake, Mary, just let him go."

Minho blinked and Newt smiled as the brunette form of Brenda appeared from a hallway. She walked over to the front desk and leaned against it with one elbow on its surface. She looked at the couple and winked. "Hey, guys."

"Hey, Brenda," Minho greeted, sheepish after Newt's show of sarcasm.

"Brenda, I was just explaining to your friend here about all the things I want to do before I die," Newt explained. "Sadly, she doesn't understand that I might not have a lot of time to get this all done. Maybe you could let her know?"

The redheaded woman, Mary, bristled. "Now, I don't need to be told how to do my job," she protested.

Newt flashed one of those knee-weakening smirks. "Then maybe you should start doing it."

Mary looked like she wanted to punch him.

Luckily, that was when Brenda stepped in. "Listen, Mary," she began soothingly. "I understand your concerns and I know about the hospital's rules. But I just gave Newt his medication this morning and it lasts for twenty-four hours. And he's a strong patient; been fighting the Flare longer than a lot in there. I think he'll be fine, as long as he's with Minho."

Mary seemed unconvinced, but she was wavering. "I don't know..."

Brenda turned to Newt. "You'll always be with Minho, right?"

"Always," Newt replied, his voice turning into something softer. Minho felt his heart melting in his chest.

"All right, problem solved," Brenda chirped. "Let me get your normal-person clothes and then you're outta here, Newt. Just remember to come back, all right?" She whirled away before another protest could be made. Mary stared after her, looking thoroughly chastised.

Minho turned around and rested his back against the desk, letting it support his weight. "You want to see Fifty Shades of Gray?" he asked Newt, arching a brow.

Newt shrugged. "I've heard great things about the book."

"Uh-huh."

"It's probably crap, though, anyway."

Minho was surprised at the sudden change of heart. He cocked his head at Newt. "So what do you really want to do?" he asked, too quiet for Mary to hear. He wanted this to be a secret that only he knew.

Newt closed his eyes. "I want to live," he murmured, speaking that sacred word like a prayer. "I wanna make music where people can hear me. I wanna see the sun. I wanna get drunk like normal twenty-something-year-olds do, and see fireworks." He opened his eyes again and fixed them on Minho. "I wanna wake up tomorrow with you next to me."

Minho stammered at the intimate words. "But Newt—"

"Damn the consequences," Newt cut him off in a low voice. "What I'm doing right now, Minho, it's not living. It's just surviving. And I'm so sick of it, it's eating me alive."

Minho was once again reminded that he'd never ever met another person like Newt before. Wordlessly, he bent to place a kiss on Newt's head. "All right," he whispered. "I'll get you out of here. Even if it's only this once."

Newt tipped his chin up to meet Minho's gaze. They were so close, they seemed to be a mere breath away from kissing. "Thank you."

Minho would've kissed Newt then, but Brenda reappeared from another hall. She was carrying a pair of skinny jeans and a dark navy shirt, with four buttons at the V-neckline. Minho laughed. "Remember that one day when you said you dressed like a gay guy?" he asked Newt teasingly.

Newt rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

-x-x-x-

Minho walked outside first, into the warm, spring air. It was a beautiful, cloudless evening. The sky stretched on forever into oblivion, an endless, sapphire gem, now darkening to deep orange and purple as the sun set. Cars rumbled idly past the hospital on the nearby road. The sidewalks led the way back into town, where shops could be seen like carefully placed dollhouses, and people talked beneath unlit streetlights. Rooftops glowed in the fading light.

Minho breathed in the sunlit air and started off toward the inviting sidewalk. It was then that he realized that Newt was no longer behind him. Blinking, he turned around and saw the blonde hesitating just outside the hospital doors. "Newt? What's wrong?"

Newt was staring all around with an expression like awe. "Nothing," he answered absently. "It's just..." He swallowed. "I haven't been in the sun for so long...It's warmer than I remembered." He closed his eyes then and basked in it. He was so beautiful in that instant, a resting angel in faded jeans, the light shimmering in his hair.

Minho couldn't resist walking up to Newt and taking the blonde in his arms. Newt opened his eyes as Minho's hands came to rest at the small of his back. His lips curved up and he linked his hands at the back of Minho's neck. Minho rested their foreheads together. "I love you," he whispered.

Newt's charred-blue eyes were so close, you could drown in them. "I know," he murmured, and then smiled. "I love you, too."

They walked the streets together. The sidewalk gleamed its creamy color under their shoes; Minho's dark boots and Newt's red Converses. Newt couldn't stop gazing at everything around him. Twisting the white, patient's bracelet around on his wrist, he gawked at tiny photography shops and bigger, beautiful restaurants. He watched as a little boy dashed past with a group of squealing friends. He studied the gleaming brass of the saxophones in a music store's window. He marveled at every color, every sound, every feeling. It was as though he'd stepped into a new world after the dreariness of the hospital and quickly grew intoxicated with it.

Minho, on the other hand, couldn't stop looking at Newt. He loved how Newt's eyes lit up when he saw something, loved how their fingers were intertwined as they walked. He admired the lanky lines of Newt's body under his shirt and it occurred to him that he'd never seen Newt dressed like this before. He was still thin, and still had red-rimmed eyes. But he was more of a part of this world now. Minho longed with all of his heart for it to always be like this. I can take care of you, he thought. I can protect you. Just get better, please, and I'll show you what kind of life I want for us.

He wanted it so badly, right then, that he nearly wept. But he forced himself out of those thoughts and back to the present.

"So, what d'you think?" he asked, gesturing at it all.

"I think I need to get out more often," Newt replied flatly.

Minho grinned playfully. "Well, at least you're out now."

"Mm-hm."

"So where do you wanna go?"

Newt's eyebrows rose. "What d'you mean?"

"Newt, you're free for a whole evening," Minho reminded him. "We can do whatever you want."

"Oh." Newt scanned the places closest to them, indecisive. "Umm..."

That was when they heard it: a low, lovely sound in the distance, begging to be heard. It pulsed and wavered in the air, notes rising and falling like flowing water. It sounded like a violin, but it couldn't be. Something was different. It didn't matter though. Newt was caught. "Where's that coming from?" he demanded, as though Minho could know.

Minho shrugged. "Probably from the park. Musicians sometimes come and play."

"I wanna go there," Newt decided. He glanced at Minho hopefully. "Can we?"

Minho tenderly kissed Newt's forehead. "Of course."

He led the way toward the park, guiding Newt with their hands still joined together. He took a right turn, following the sidewalk. The park's gates were just ahead. As they walked, the sound of the music grew louder. It was slow, and breathtaking to listen to. Deep, reverberating notes shook the air. It even made the birds fall silent. A scattering of people was clustered outside the park's gates. Minho paused at the edge of the crowd and tried to peer over their heads.

"Think you can make it through a crowd?" Minho asked Newt.

Newt sent him a confident smile. "Please," he scoffed. "Try to keep up." With that, he took the lead. He wove between the people with ease and a lazy grace that took Minho's breath away. He could only trail behind in silence, taken aback by his own love for the person pulling him along. They reached the first line of people in no time. Minho heard Newt inhale a small breath. Anxious to see now, he slid in beside Newt and finally laid eyes on the mysterious musician.

It was a dusky-skinned man, wearing simple jeans and a black T-shirt. But he was sitting on a small stool. In his hands was an instrument of reddish wood, with sleek curves and a beautiful sound. A cello. Minho watched as the man's bow glided back forth slowly over the strings, producing a sound unlike anything he'd ever heard. It reminded him of Newt's violin, but it was deeper, moving. The song was heartbreakingly slow and sad, captivating the audience. The man closed his eyes as he played, his expression one of utter rapture.

Newt's eyes were half-closed as he listened. He pushed his hands into his pockets and watched every fluid movement of the bow over the instrument. It seemed like he was sharing every emotion the musician felt as he played, an invisible string connecting them together. It was touching to watch.

Minho looked at the blonde next to him, at every exquisite part of him, and knew that Newt had been right. Minho was going to care when Newt finally lost his mind. He was going to be broken when Newt died. Everything he'd ever dreamed of was in this lovely violinist. And Minho would see him fall deeper into the abyss of a diseased mind. An ache formed in his throat at the thought of it and he lowered his eyes as tears burned in them. He didn't want to lose Newt. The world couldn't possibly be that cruel to him, to make him fall so completely in love and then rip it away before his eyes.

He jumped a little when Newt placed a hand on his arm. "Hey, you okay?" Newt asked, searching Minho's face.

"Y—yeah," Minho stammered, hurriedly shoving down the sorrow building inside. "I'm fine."

"Okay." Newt glanced back at the cellist and softened. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" he asked quietly.

Minho smiled a wobbly smile. "Yeah. It is."

"I wish I'd brought my violin. I would've asked to play with him."

"I would've loved that." Minho touched Newt's lower back, a silent reminder that he was there. "Do you know what song he's playing?"

Newt closed his eyes briefly. "Young and Beautiful," he murmured.

Minho looped his arm the whole way around Newt's waist then and tugged him up against his side. "Like you," he whispered in Newt's ear.

Newt made an appreciative sound in his throat and leaned into Minho's side. Two of his fingers hooked thoughtlessly into Minho's belt loop. "I wanna go somewhere else now," he murmured.

The words were perfectly innocent, but the way they were said sent shivers over Minho's skin. "All right." He brushed his lips to Newt's ear. "I know a place."


	7. Chapter 7

-I don't even know what to say about what I just wrote, so I will say nothing. :)

I hope you all love it as much as I did. Reviews make me so happy. You guys are all amazing, leaving me so many reviews. You're the best readers a girl could ask for, so thank you so much.

Enjoy the story!-

-x-x-x-

"The way you'd play for me...

and all the ways I got to know your pretty face and electric soul...

Will you still love me when I'm no longer

young and beautiful?

Will you still love me when I got nothing

but my aching soul?"

-Lana Del Ray, "Young and Beautiful"

-x-x-x-

"This is your house?" Newt was standing outside the house, staring at it in surprise. It was decently sized, and painted pale blue, with dark shutters. It was nestled comfortably between a small restaurant and an art studio in town. "I thought you lived in an apartment or something."

Minho walked up to the front door and fiddled with his keys. "Yeah, well, my parents moved to a bigger place once they started their business in the city," he explained. "So they left me this."

"Huh." Newt examined it for a minute more, then smiled. "I like it."

Minho chuckled. "You haven't seen how small it is on the inside yet," he muttered, turning the key in the lock. The door swung open with a click, revealing a hardwood floor leading off into the house. He stepped aside to let Newt go first.

Newt's smile broadened, and he headed toward the hallways and rooms beyond the open door. As he passed, the back of his palm grazed Minho's stomach through his white tee. An accident that had Minho's pulse revving up mindlessly. He waited for Newt to take a few steps inside before he closed the door behind them. A silence fell over the house then, as the sounds from the outside world were cut off. It was heavier than usual, as though the house itself sensed a visitor.

Newt wandered past the living room doorway, glancing in at hardwood floors and black, contrasting furniture. A TV stood at the back, watchful. He moved on down the hall and emerged into the kitchen. It was very open, attaching directly to the living room. The tiles of the floor were a cloudy, dark-gray-and-white pattern. Every steel appliance gleamed. A doorway to the left seemed to lead to a smaller, more shadowy stairway

Minho went to the doorway and leaned against it. "It's not that big, so..." he trailed off, having no ending to that sentence. "There's not much to look at, really."

"I love it," Newt said, his voice oddly quiet.

Minho warmed. "Thank you."

Newt spared him a sideways glance before he took a step toward that stairway to the left. "What's through there?" he asked, pointing.

Minho followed his gaze. "Oh, um, that's my room," he replied.

Newt looked at the stairs with new curiosity. When Minho didn't protest, he edged his way up them. Minho pushed off the doorframe to follow him up, stopping at the bedroom door to watch Newt explore. The blonde's movements hinted of envy when he traced a finger over the ebony sheets of the bed, so much better than his at the hospital. He swept his gaze over the bedside table with its lamp and a small digital clock. Then he turned and drew in a breath. The entire right wall was made of windows. The house had been built to that the bedroom overlooked the street below, and across from that, the golden lights of the town at night. Restaurants and businesses all shone with their own wonder down below. But from up here, in the darkness of the now-deep dusk, they were invisible. Newt stood there, looking downward, for a long moment.

Minho's smile faded when he noticed something changing in Newt's gaze. "Newt?" he asked tentatively.

Newt continued to gaze down, his fingers reaching up to touch the glass. The sky outside was a magnificent shade of indigo, bringing out the color of his eyes. Minho thought he saw tears in them.

Concerned, Minho crossed the room to stand beside Newt. "Newt," he said, touching Newt's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Newt shook his head and then bowed his neck to press his forehead against the window. "Everything," he managed, his voice thick now.

Minho's heart twisted in pain. "What do you mean, angel?" he asked gently.

Newt sniffled once, and hugged himself as he stood there against the night sky. "I like this too much, Minho," he said, tears threatening to fall.

"What?"

"Just...just this." Newt sobbed, glistening tracks appearing down his face. "I like living. I like listening to musicians play. I like watching kids run around. I like holding your hand. I don't want to lose it." He was crying then, holding his face in his hands to hide it from Minho. "I don't want to die."

Minho's heart broke. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, wrapping his arms around Newt and pulling him in close. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Newt turned to face him and buried his face in Minho's shoulder. Minho held him gently, stroking a hand over Newt's hair. They stood like that for several minutes, Newt trembling in Minho's arms. His quiet sobs filled the room with a sound that pierced straight into Minho's chest. He waited, murmuring hushed things to Newt and rubbing his back in soothing circles. After a while, Newt's shoulders stopped shaking and he was silent, save for a few embarrassed sniffles.

Minho waited one extra second before pulling back. "You okay?" he asked, holding Newt by the shoulders.

Newt nodded once, a bit pink in the face as he wiped away the last of his tears. "Yeah," he stammered. "I'm okay now."

Minho smiled a small smile. "Okay." He leaned forward to brush a kiss to Newt's forehead. Drawing back again, he glided his hands up and down Newt's arms, watching the pain slowly fade from the blonde's eyes. Well, perhaps not entirely, but it faded back to the dull ache it had been before. Minho wondered if all Flare patients had that ache inside of them, every second of every day. He shoved the idea away. Instead, he smiled wider and took a step back toward the door. "C'mon," he said warmly. "Let me make you something. Something to drink, maybe? You seem like a tea kind of guy."

Newt snorted. "Probably because of the bloody accent, right?" He trailed after Minho at a slower pace. "But you don't have to make anything for me..."

"I want to," Minho replied. "It'll make you feel better. Tea solves all the world's problems."

"If that were true, then the world wouldn't be the way it is right now."

"It's just that some people need to drink more tea."

"Your obsession with tea scares me."

"Your lack of an obsession with tea scares me." Minho was halfway down the stairs by this point, and he threw a smirk over his shoulder. Newt just rolled his eyes, one side of his mouth curving up.

They walked back into the kitchen together. Minho immediately settled into a familiar routine: heating up water in a mug, grabbing a teabag from a bowl by the fridge, snagging a jar of sugar. Newt watched all the while, taking one of the black stools in front of the marble kitchen island. As Minho set to work making the tea, he snuck glances at the blonde. Newt had his elbows on the island, chin propped on one hand. He resembled an ailing prince, with his Flare-stained face and still-lingering beauty. There was a careless curve to his shoulders when he sat like that, and an even more careless flop to how his hair fell over his eyebrows. Minho forced his gaze away before he started staring outright.

While he waited for the tea to finish, Minho leaned against a counter and looked back at Newt. "So," he began, "what did you mean earlier? When you said if the world's problems were solved it wouldn't be how it is now?"

Newt blew out a breath and strands of hair lifted off his forehead. "Well, for starters, there'd be no war," he answered. "And no pain. And no sickness." He dropped his chin off his hand then, running his fingers back through his hair. "And I guess that's what I really meant. That I wouldn't have the Flare. I don't want to sound selfish, but the world really sucks if it made me get diagnosed before I even...did anything."

"What do you mean?" Minho asked, cocking his head.

Newt shrugged. "I was just beginning college. I had plans, just like anyone else. When I found out I had it, it was basically like someone telling me to give up on ever really living again."

Minho took this in for a moment. Turning to the tea, he unwrapped one of the teabags and dropped it in. He had to wait some more, so he thought of another question, and this one had bothered him for a long time. "What were you planning on doing? If you'd never gotten diagnosed?"

Newt closed his eyes then, a smile ghosting over his lips. "I wanted to be a professional musician," he confessed, in that quiet, dreamy voice he used when he spoke of music. "I always thought it was what I was meant to do. The only reason I was born was to play music for people. I was so sure of it." His happiness disappeared. "Now I'm not even sure I can trust myself to not hallucinate every other second without enough medicine."

"You would've been brilliant," Minho told him seriously. "You already are, but you would've been even more incredible if you'd had the chance."

Newt's fingers picked out a restless pattern on the tabletop. "Thanks."

Minho went back to spooning sugar into the tea, then stirring. He could feel the heat rising up off the liquid in waves. He could feel the heat of Newt's eyes on him from behind. "What about you?" Newt asked suddenly. "You told me you were an art instructor once. That going well?"

Minho huffed a laugh. "Kids can be annoying as hell sometimes," was all he said. He turned around with mug in hand and placed it on the counter in front of Newt. The blonde took it with a grateful glance. "But I do love it."

"What kind of art do you teach, exactly?" Newt asked, cradling the mug in his hands. "A little of everything?"

"I guess." Minho rounded the island and sat on the stool next to Newt's. There were precious inches between their legs. "But I've always liked painting. I've done it since I was five."

Newt sipped his tea with all the grace of a languid cat. "I'm guessing you've gotten a little better since then?" he asked teasingly.

"Well, Jesus, I hope so," Minho replied, and they shared friendly, comfortable laughter. When the laughter faded, Minho suddenly felt like the room was heated somehow; it was like an electrical charge had lit up in the space between them. Minho couldn't ignore it. It was drawing him closer and closer to Newt. He glanced again at Newt, watching the way the blonde closed his eyes briefly when he drank, golden lashes drooping. This close, Minho saw how thin Newt had become, with hardly any lean muscle on his lanky form. His eyes were shadowed and there was a noticeable paleness in his skin. But he still held that captivating beauty in the delicate sweeps of his eyelashes and the graceful curve of his neck. Minho didn't know what it was about Newt that had him so utterly helpless. But it was effecting him now.

Before he realized that he was moving, Minho had shifted his stool closer to Newt's and taken the mug of tea in one hand.

Newt paused in the act of raising the mug; their fingers overlapped, Minho's over Newt's. Newt searched Minho's expression, puzzled. "Minho?"

Minho didn't speak. His voice didn't seem to work anymore. He found himself carefully unfolding Newt's fingers from the mug and setting it down on the marble island. Newt was still the entire time, as though unsure of what he was expected to do. To make sure Newt wouldn't grab the mug again, Minho skimmed his fingers up to Newt's wrist; the feel of the smooth skin there left him dizzy. Then, gently, Minho leaned forward until their noses brushed. When Newt did nothing but inhale a small breath, Minho touched their mouths together.

The kiss opened the way flowers do, slow and soft. Minho closed his eyes as Newt welcomed the kiss, tilting his head to get closer. It was featherlight at first, a shared breath. But then Newt gave a little whimper into Minho's mouth. He brought his hands up to cradle Minho's jaw, fingertips slipping up into his hair. Before he could stop himself, Minho nipped once at Newt's bottom lip. Newt gasped and slid off his stool. It took him no time at all to climb into Minho's lap, straddling his hips. Minho held Newt around the waist and felt every defense he had crumble to the ground.

Newt's kisses were desperate now, deeper. He ran his tongue along Minho's teeth and Minho moaned weakly. "Newt," he breathed, the name leaving him in a sigh of reverence as Newt tipped Minho's head back and kissed his neck. The blonde continued to trace a hot path along Minho's neck, back to his ear. Minho's hands were curling themselves in the back of Newt's shirt, searching for something to keep himself grounded.

Newt placed tiny kisses along the curve of Minho's ear, and whispered shakily, "don't stop."

Minho had imagined that beautiful voice saying that so many times, but nothing came close to this. His breath hitched when Newt caught his earlobe between his teeth. Without thinking, he pushed his hands up the back of Newt's shirt. His fingers splayed over the cool expanse of Newt's back. Newt inhaled sharply at the sensation, his spine arching forward.

It was too much for Minho. He couldn't watch Newt becoming so gorgeously unhinged like that. He slipped his hands underneath Newt's thighs and stood up, keeping the blonde curled around him. Newt didn't protest, so Minho blindly made his way toward the stairs. He was sure he was going to trip when Newt began kissing his neck again, whispering soft things in his ear, hushed promises that made Minho's knees weak. He stumbled his way up the stairs in a drunken haze of Newt's sinfully sweet voice and mind-numbing kisses.

His room was dark when he emerged from the doorway. The wall of windows was lit only by the twinkle of faraway stars and the silvery disc of a crescent moon. Far below, a few lights from other buildings were scattered about like golden ghosts. Minho staggered to the moonlit mass of blankets that was his bed. Easing Newt back onto the mattress, he paused, holding himself above the blonde. A flash of uncertainty had hit him. "Newt, are you—?"

"Shut up," Newt cut him off, grabbing the front of Minho's shirt and hauling their mouths together again. Minho didn't argue for the moment, his mind reeling as they kissed heatedly. He could feel Newt leaning up into his mouth, feel Newt's fingertips mapping out a path down his chest and stomach. It was all too addicting. Newt's fingers curled into Minho's shirt over his stomach, tugging questioningly. Minho's answer was to sit up, still straddling Newt's waist, and reach for the hem of his shirt. Stripping it off, he ignored where it fell and sank back down for more of Newt's hot-as-flame touch.

Newt blinked, his eyes widening slightly. His lips parted as he ran his hands from Minho's broad shoulders the whole way down to his sculpted abs. "God," he breathed out. "You're so gorgeous."

Minho's heart did giddy backflips at the words. He smiled briefly before leaning down to touch his lips to Newt's forehead. Gently, he traced little kisses down Newt's nose, stopping when he reached his mouth again. Newt sighed in bliss and Minho took the chance to take Newt's shoulders in his hands. Sitting up again, he pulled Newt up with him, so the blonde sat with Minho on his lap. Newt's eyes immediately darted down to where Minho's fingers were hooking into the hem of his shirt. Minho had only gotten the fabric halfway up Newt's stomach when Newt's hand stopped him. There was anxiety and a hint of shame in the blonde's face. "I'm not...Well, you know I won't be...like you," Newt whispered, as though he'd done something wrong.

"Newt," Minho murmured simply, "let me see you."

Newt bit his lip, but nodded. He let Minho peel his shirt off the rest of the way and drop it. Minho took a moment to study Newt like this for the first time. The blonde was adorably shy, not even looking at Minho, fighting the urge to cross his arms over his chest. His shoulders were bare curves in the moonlight, his arms lean. There was nearly no muscle at all on his chest or stomach, and he was slim from the illness and from being cooped up in the hospital. But his skin was ivory and looked oh-so-touchable. There was a ghostly, almost-there loveliness to him, speaking of the person he'd been before the Flare.

It didn't matter that he wasn't that person now.

Minho still thought he was breathtaking.

Leaning in, Minho reached up a hand to cup Newt's cheek. He stroked his thumb over Newt's skin to make him meet Minho's eyes. "I think you're beautiful," Minho told him.

Newt shook his head as though denying it, but he didn't have time to speak aloud. Minho had bent forward and was now trailing his lips down the side of Newt's neck. Pushing Newt back down into the mattress, Minho moved his mouth downward and brushed his teeth lightly over Newt's collarbone. Newt's fingers threaded through Minho's hair and he sighed, "Min." Minho took this as permission to continue, kissing down Newt's chest. He nearly whimpered out loud at the feather-soft skin there and made his way to Newt's stomach. When Newt tensed underneath him, he moved back up Newt's body again. He reached his mouth and placed a kiss there too. Then he hesitated. "Newt," he whispered, and hooked a finger in Newt's belt. "Are you sure?"

Newt's eyes opened, blue and deep, and full of desire. He looped his arms loosely around Minho's neck. "You're it for me, Minho," he murmured. "I don't think I could've fallen for anyone else, even if I'd never met you. And besides..." He brushed his fingers over Minho's jaw. "...I only have months left now. No matter what, I don't want to die with regrets. So I'm sure. I've never been more sure of anything."

Minho couldn't help the tears that pricked his eyes at the mention of Newt's death. The way it hung over them every second drove him mad. He didn't trust himself to say anything so he kissed Newt again, much deeper this time, consuming. He could feel Newt's hands at his belt, then his jeans. Slowly, their hands searched for more skin, slipping out of more clothing as they did. It was intoxicating in the moonlight, addictive and desperate. But it was slow and sensual too, a brush of fingertips over skin, a heated whisper between them. When all of their clothing littered the floor at last and there was only their breaths separating them, Minho finally, carefully, let himself sink into Newt. Newt's reaction was immediate and brokenly beautiful. His back arched up off the mattress, his head fell back, and a pitiful mewl of pleasure left his throat. Minho waited for a minute, trembling as he let Newt grow used to this feeling.

After a moment, Newt stammered, "M—Minho...Please..."

Trying to control himself, Minho pulled back and then pushed into Newt again. He kept the pace slow, dragging into Newt carefully. But the pressure was still enough to make the blonde lose his mind. He clung to Minho's shoulders and whimpered pleadingly. The sound made Minho's carefulness shatter. Bowing his head into Newt's shoulder, he rocked his hips into Newt harder. The friction was just delicious and it sent shivers down his spine. He heard the breath huff out of Newt and nails dug into his back. "Minho," Newt gasped breathlessly.

Groaning softly, Minho found himself grinding into Newt mindlessly. Every push from his hips sent his mind spinning. His body shoved Newt's against the mattress, knocked the breath out of them both. Newt hooked his legs around Minho's waist, his hands scrabbling for a hold on Minho's shoulders. Minho's next thrust was deep enough to make Newt throw his head back as he moaned shakily. It was too much. They were too much together. Minho didn't even know what he was doing anymore, he was too dizzy with ecstasy. He could feel Newt's fingertips digging into his skin, hear Newt begging under him. It was unlike anything he'd ever thought it'd be. Flames jumped between them as wave after wave of this incredible feeling pulsed through them.

Sinking back against the mattress, Newt panted heavily, his hands slipping from Minho's shoulders. His eyelids slid lower, showing sparks of azure beneath. The way he looked then stole Minho's breath away. Newt was gorgeously ruined, his golden hair tousled and a fog of want over his eyes. His chest rose and fell with every breath. Minho wanted to melt. He smoothed the hair back from Newt's forehead. "I love you, Newt," he whispered softly.

Newt met his gaze, a smile playing over his lips. "I love you, too," he murmured, the emotion ringing in his voice.

Minho smiled back and touched a kiss to Newt's nose. Then he slowly slid out of him again, the loss sending trembles over his skin. A sound of disappointment left Newt's throat and Minho's smile widened. He stretched out on the bed beside Newt, glad to be able to admire every line of Newt's body from this angle. In the back of his mind, he realized that they'd never pulled the blankets over them and the bed was still pretty much made beneath them. But he was too tired to care about dealing with that now. He just laid on top of the covers and opened his arms invitingly to Newt.

Newt was across the bed in seconds, tucking himself up against Minho's side. When Minho's arms wrapped around him, he sighed contentedly. Minho's heart softened when Newt rubbed his cheek against Minho's chest and cuddled with him in a sweet way he hadn't expected from the snarky blonde. Nuzzling Newt's hair, Minho closed his eyes.

He imagined that it would always be like this.


	8. Chapter 8

-Here we are, another chapter, finally! I imagine this fic as having only a few more chapters. Still haven't decided on a happy ending though... I'm sorry, sometimes sad endings are needed, but it doesn't mean I'll make this sad yet! You'll just have to wait to find out what I choose, haha.

Again, thank you all for being such lovely reviewers, and if you haven't reviewed, then thanks for being a devoted reader up to this point. You're all the only reason I keep writing (apart from the tiny fact that I'm a bit addicted to Minewt...XD)

Enjoy this next chapter, and get ready for more! :)-

When Newt woke up the next morning, he was in a drowsy, half-asleep state of bliss. The covers were softer than silk under him, his body stretched out languorously. The first, soft rays of morning light were filtering in between the curtains drawn over the windows. He basked in the feel of the warm sheets and sunlight. This was what heaven felt like: waking up in a bed that wasn't cold or scratchy, with walls that were cozy instead of sterilely white. He stifled a yawn and tried to burrow down farther into the mattress beneath him. His hand searched absently for Minho's arm around his waist.

Minho wasn't there.

Blinking groggily, Newt propped himself up on an elbow. Glancing over his shoulder in confusion, he saw that Minho wasn't lying beside him anymore. Instead, there was a message, written on a yellow post-it note. It was short, written in blocky handwriting: Went out to get breakfast. I'll be back in ten minutes. Love you. –Min

Newt smiled slightly. Minho was going out to buy breakfast for him. He was much too sweet, too kind. Newt didn't know how Minho made it through life without people taking advantage of such kindness. Then he remembered.

The hospital.

Yesterday.

Last night.

A shudder tightened his skin and he looked down at himself. With a comical gasp of embarrassment, despite no one being around to see, he scrambled off the bed and raked his hand over the floor in search of his clothes. He hadn't planned on spending the night there. He wasn't supposed to. The hospital staff would be angry with him and he'd never get out again. And God, he'd actually...he'd actually slept with Minho.

They'll know, Newt thought, groaning to himself as he pictured the doctors' faces. They'll know why I didn't come back until today.

Was nothing in his life private anymore?

He'd stood up too fast and waves of dizziness racked his mind as he finally found his boxers. He slipped them on fast, his cheeks heated after discovering that he'd worn absolutely nothing all night and had woken up like it too. Newt had never, ever done anything like that in his life. How could he expect to, when he was sick? It was unnerving to him at first.

But then he clambered onto the bed again and sat at the edge. He raked a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. The initial embarrassment and guilt was fading. Now he only felt pleasant little shivers running down his spine. He'd slept with Minho. He'd made love to Minho, his most important person, the love of his life. He couldn't believe it. He touched two fingers to his lips, remembering Minho's needy, smoldering kisses. His fingers traveled down, wonderingly tracing a map down to a tiny mark on his collarbone: Minho's teeth scraping his skin. He remembered how it'd felt, every part of it, all of Minho.

Newt smiled at his lovestruck daydreaming and shook his head. "I've got it so bad for you," he murmured. And how true it was. Minho could say anything at all and Newt would have to obey now.

In calmer, slower movements, Newt pushed away his dizziness and stood up again. Bending down, he picked up two shirts from the floor. One was his, navy and familiar. The other was white and plain; Minho's. Glancing over, Newt saw that Minho's jeans had been left in a heap near the foot of the bed. Newt's were somewhere else. He looked back down at those shirts. Dropping his, he studied Minho's instead. Awkwardly, he lifted it to his nose.

"Ohhh..." Damn, it smelled good, like skin and soap and Minho's cologne. Newt forgot his awkwardness and buried his face in the T-shirt, inhaling. Even Minho's scent was enough to make him high. After only a moment's hesitation, he pulled the shirt over his head. It hung on his thin frame, obviously meant for someone built more like Minho. Newt curled his fingers in the fabric and tried to imagine that he wasn't so weak. That maybe he'd have that effect that Minho had on Newt. Yes, Newt loved Minho for more than just his appearance, but come on. There was no denying it: Minho was hot as hell. Newt? Newt...wasn't.

He loves you, Newt told himself. He told you, he thought you were...beautiful. Newt snorted. "I'm not," he muttered.

He decided that was enough time spent talking to himself. Wandering over to the stairs, he climbed his way down them. Looking down stairways wasn't easy for him. The height made the steps bob and twirl in his vision. He had to grip the railing tight to stop himself from tripping. Damn Flare. Why did it have to ruin EVERYTHING? Reaching the bottom without killing himself, he padded barefoot into the kitchen. The walls were caressed gently by the pale yellow of the dawn sun. The marble island sat alone in the center of the room. Steel appliances gleamed. Newt trailed his fingertips over the stovetop, then the cool surface of the island. Envy burned in his heart.

He was there. He was at the edge of another life, the life he could have with Minho if only he could be cured. He could feel the ghost of it around him, as though future memories ached to be made in this house. That life wasn't even possible...was it? He wanted it so badly, it made him lose his breath.

The sound of the front door suddenly opening made him turn. It was followed by a slam as it closed and footsteps down the hall. Newt waited in anticipation, his heart already racing.

Minho stepped into the kitchen, carrying a plastic bag with the name of some restaurant printed on the side. Something that smelled wonderfully warm and delicious seeped from it. He was about to set it down, when he glanced up and noticed Newt. His eyes lit up that way they always did and he broke into a radiant smile. "Hey, you're up!" he greeted cheerfully. "Sorry for leaving like I did. I didn't wanna wake you."

"It's fine." Newt shuffled his feet.

"There's a new restaurant a few blocks away," Minho went on. "They have the best breakfasts ever. I thought you'd like something different from that hospital food."

"Thanks," Newt replied quietly. He felt foolishly shy. He was waiting for Minho to say something about last night. Wasn't that what people did? Or did they just...have sex and then never talk about it? Surely it was more than that.

"Sleep well?" Minho asked conversationally. He rounded the island to reach a cabinet next to Newt. Standing up on his toes, he opened the door and reached inside.

"Y—yeah," Newt stammered. He stared dumbly at Minho. The way Minho searched in the cabinet made his body stretch gorgeously. He seemed to have thrown on jeans and a tank top that morning, because the jeans clung so low on his hips. His tank top inched up as he reached, showing a slice of smooth skin at his waist. Newt couldn't remember how to speak properly.

"That's good," Minho replied, breaking the moment. He pulled down two plates, one stacked on top of the other. Setting them down on the counter, he turned back to the bag on the island. He bent across the marble island to grab it, unaware of how the action made his jeans hug his body. Newt blushed and mentally ordered himself to NOT keep staring at Minho's ass. He failed miserably.

"Okay, you want food?" Minho slid the bag closer and glanced up at Newt. He blinked when he saw that Newt was gawking at him stupidly. "What?"

"You." Newt couldn't think of what else to say.

Minho's eyebrows rose. "What do you mean?"

"Do you seriously not know?" Newt asked incredulously. He'd decided to take a different approach to this.

Minho shook his head in adorable confusion.

Newt strode forward abruptly and planted his hands on the marble island, on either side of Minho. He heard Minho's gasp, saw Minho's hands grab the edge of the counter behind him as though he needed it for support. It felt so good, for Newt to be so small compared to Minho, but to still have the ability to pin Minho to a counter. He'd never really thought about it before, but it occurred to him now just how helpless Minho was with him.

Newt quirked his mouth into the smirk he knew Minho loved. "Just...you," he said, letting his nose brush over Minho's. "You, your eyes, your voice, your body." He trailed his eyes over Minho's body as he said it and felt Minho shiver. "You're so damn sexy and you don't even realize when you're making me crazy."

Minho swallowed. "I'm making you crazy?" he asked, proving Newt's point.

Newt couldn't take it anymore, he had to hear it, had to know that this was real. It had to mean something. He lowered his eyes to Minho's mouth. "Do you remember last night?" he asked softly.

Minho visibly tensed. This was a new Minho Newt was seeing, a Minho so helplessly in love that he'd do anything Newt said. "Yes."

Newt's heart leaped at the answer. But, evilly, he wanted to drag this out longer. It felt new and daring to be a tease. "What do you remember about it?" he asked, still hushed. As he spoke, he placed one hand on Minho's stomach. Body heat seared his palm.

"I—I..." There was that stutter, Minho's weakness slipping through. "We..."

"Made love," Newt finished for him in a murmur, "for the first time." He slipped his hand under Minho's tank top and pressed his palm flat to Minho's stomach. Hard muscle rippled under his touch and he couldn't resist rubbing his thumb over Minho's skin. What he wouldn't give to kiss the place he was touching now.

Minho whimpered, both from Newt's words and his touch. "W—we did," he breathed out.

It was too polite. Newt wanted Minho to admit what he'd felt last night. "And?" he asked, sliding his hand higher. He settled it on Minho's chest and let his nails lightly scratch the skin.

Minho was trembling. "And what?"

Newt leaned in and kissed Minho's earlobe. Gently, he caught it between his teeth and ran his tongue over the soft curve. He heard Minho make another, less-chaste sound. Newt smiled in triumph. He didn't have to say another word. Minho caved and confessed, "I loved every minute of it. Every single second. I loved hearing you, and feeling you, and knowing that you let me see that vulnerable side of yourself. I loved it, and I love you."

Newt pulled back. That was all he wanted to hear. "I love you, too, Min," he whispered.

Minho didn't take that as an acceptable answer. He snatched Newt's face in his hands and crushed their mouths together. They were immediately all over each other, kissing crazily, hands roaming. Newt could feel Minho's hands falling down to grip his waist and his fingers had found themselves knotted in Minho's tank top. He couldn't stop, because it tasted so good, and love was surging overwhelmingly inside of him. He loved Minho. The thought had him dizzy again.

Minho suddenly braced his hands on the counter behind him. Lifting himself up onto it, he grabbed Newt's waist again. With easy strength, he hefted Newt up and leaned back with the blonde sinking down on top of him. Newt's mind buzzed. It was too hot to be making out on top of a marble island. He kissed Minho harder, shoving his hands up under his tank top. He stroked his hands the whole way up Minho's body before raking his nails down Minho's chest. Minho broke the kiss as his head fell back and he moaned. "Newt. Angel." The words were pleas.

"What do you want?" Newt asked breathlessly, raining kisses down Minho's neck. "I'll give you anything."

"You," Minho gasped, clutching at Newt desperately.

Newt nipped at Minho's throat. "Then I'm yours."

Minho shuddered and hooked his thumbs into Newt's boxers. Newt fought the urge to beg Minho for more and instead ground his hips into Minho's seductively. Both of them groaned out loud at the feel of it. Newt felt Minho's hands pulling his waistband lower. Newt reached for the counter for something to keep him sane and accidentally hit the plastic bag of food. With a loud thump, it slid off the edge and dropped onto the floor. The sound made them both jerk slightly, snapping out of their drunken trance.

Breathing heavily, Newt stilled and tried to focus on thinking straight. Beneath him, he could feel the rise and fall of Minho's chest. He glanced down at Minho's tousled hair and fogged-over eyes. "You know," he began breathlessly, "I wasn't really supposed to stay here last night."

"I know," Minho replied, a bit guiltily. "But I just...I couldn't let you go."

Newt shook his head, a smile playing over his lips. "You're really in love with me, aren't you?"

"Yes," Minho admitted softly. He let out a quiet laugh. "I am. God, I am. I've never been this in love." He glided his hands up and down Newt's back. "I'm glad it's you I fell for," he murmured.

Newt felt it again, the wonderful happiness and then the twist of pain in his heart. "You shouldn't be," he whispered.

"Stop saying things like that." Minho sat up and slipped off the counter, taking Newt with him. They stood up, Newt's nose level with Minho's shoulders. Minho bent his head and pushed his nose into Newt's hair, breathing in his scent. "You're sick. You have the Flare. I get that. But I still love you more than anything."

Newt closed his eyes and buried his face in Minho's shoulder. "Okay," he mumbled, emotion making his voice thick.

Minho wrapped his arms around Newt and pulled him up against Minho. "Just don't let me go again, okay?" he asked in a whisper.

Newt nodded. "Okay," he said again.

He knew he wouldn't let Minho go, not now.

It was Minho who would have to let Newt go, when the time came.

-x-x-x-

Life back at the hospital was just as bleak as ever.

Newt trudged his way through the front doors, taking his good old time as he did. He hated this place. Absolutely hated it. The floors were cold linoleum, the walls were dull, and it was always too chilly. He hugged himself as he shuffled through the front lobby, wearing his jeans and navy shirt from the day before. He was going to be changing out of them soon anyway. Back into the crappy, blue hospital clothes they made him wear. He could feel a headache beginning to throb at the back of his head as he made his sluggish way toward the front desk. To his annoyance, it was that redhead, Mary working again.

"Hey," he greeted, once he was in front of the desk. She glanced up and her eyebrows shot up. "I'm gonna need those old hospital clothes again."

The look of astonishment on Mary's face changed then, her eyes narrowing in disapproval. She didn't answer him. Instead, she glanced back down at her computer screen and typed something in.

Newt's headache increased, the pressure in his head pulsing. "Did you hear me?" he demanded rudely. "I'm standing right here."

She didn't look up from her screen. "Where were you last night?" she asked, her fingers clicking over the keyboard.

Newt gritted his teeth. "Where do you think I was?" he asked slowly.

She arched a brow at his tone. "With him."

"Looks like someone's finally catching on," Newt replied sarcastically. "Now where can I get my clothes and some shucking medicine for this headache?"

"You shouldn't have been out all night," she pointed out warningly. "It's not good for your system. Flare patients are hardly allowed out at all, and they're certainly not allowed to be doing the things you were doing." She glared, then turned to squint at her computer. "Clothes should be in the room for you." She studied him for a moment, then scanned the room behind him. "Where is he anyway?"

Newt was just about sick of her crap. He clenched his jaw. "He has to work today. He dropped me off."

"Good," she replied, as though she was a teacher satisfied with a student's answer. "You could use some time away from him."

"Excuse me?" Newt asked dangerously. The back of his head was raked with flames.

"You can't honestly think that what you two are doing is healthy."

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does." She looked around, then lowered her voice. "You know full well what the Flare can do to you. Straining yourself when you're in this condition is not acceptable. And going about, doing things like—like—" she shuddered and said the word like it was a curse, "—sex is not helping you at all."

"I never said anything about that."

"You didn't have to. It was obvious why you didn't come back last night."

Newt didn't want this. He wanted his stupid hospital clothes, and that foul, scratchy bed, and some damn painkiller for this shucking headache. He didn't have time to listen to her telling him what to do, and who he shouldn't be doing it with. "Does being a patient here mean that I have NO privacy at all?" he demanded irritably. "It's none of your business what I was doing."

Mary stared at him for a long moment. "Do you realize what exactly it is you're doing here though? Setting that poor boy up to have his heart broken. What is it to you? A free trip out of here for a night? Sex from someone who'll actually give it to you? You're playing with his heart, Newt, and it hurts me to see it." She shook her head. Her years of being here and seeing Newt's attitude had convinced her that he wasn't a good person. He'd done a good job keeping his wall up around her. "I just want to know why. Why would you do this?"

Newt could feel the throb in the back of his head spreading up to the front. He kneaded his forehead with two fingers and winced. Her words stung. He knew Minho would be heartbroken eventually, when Newt was gone. But Mary had gotten some of her facts wrong too. Newt sighed. "I'm in love with him."

Mary's lips parted in shock. "What?"

"I said, I'm in love with him."

She continued to stare at him for a few more seconds. The darkness in her eyes faded. "I didn't realize you..."

"Yeah, well," Newt sighed, rubbing his throbbing head, "me neither."

She nodded, and then typed in a few more things on her keyboard. Peering at the screen, she went on in a kinder tone. "Your things should be in your room, like I said. And I'll send Brenda in with your medicine."

"Thanks." Newt speared his fingers through his hair, his touch cool on his burning nerves.

"And...I'm sorry." Mary cleared her throat awkwardly, cheeks flushed.

Newt blinked at her. He had to admit, he hadn't expected an apology from her. Perhaps he'd proven that he wasn't as terrible a person as he'd made himself out to be. He was about to reply, when suddenly, his vision tilted. Gasping, he snatched for the edge of the counter and clung to it as the room swirled around him. The dizziness it produced stirred a wave of nausea in his throat. He heard Mary's voice, a muted question in his ears, but he couldn't answer. The flames in his head morphed into lightning bolts. There was something at the back of his head now, something black and awful and wicked. It rose up in his mind, flooding it with dark water, muffling his senses. He knew what it was. It was the same thing that had made his parents see things, and had made them forget his name. It was the thing in the Flare that made patients slowly disintegrate into mindless, raged people.

Not now not now not now. He wasn't ready. He'd thought he'd have more time before the Flare reached this point, and put him on the threshold of death.

The last thing he heard was Mary's frantic shout, before the world spiraled into blackness around him.


	9. Author's Note

-Sorry, guys, this is just an author's note. XD Don't freak out, I'm not here to tell you I'm not finishing this; I'm definitely not gonna leave this hanging. I just wanted to share some music with you all :)

So if you wanna hear the version of Love Me Like You Do that Newt played for Minho, go to YouTube and look up the violin cover by Robert Mendoza. It's so beautiful, guys. And also, if you'd like to hear the cellist's playing of Young and Beautiful, look up the cover by the Brooklyn Duo. That's all I got for now, thanks for reading! :D

PS: my personal theme songs for this story (if you wanna look them up too) are Flightless Bird, American Mouth by Iron &amp; Wine (which has strange lyrics but a beautiful melody) and Kiss Me, by Ed Sheeran. The title was inspired by Rainer Maria Rilke's poem, The Angels.


	10. Chapter 10

-Next chapter is here! Thank you very much for the incredible reviews. They mean more to me than you know. :)

I won't say anything else now, cuz I know you wanna read this. Let me know what you think!-

It only took Minho ten minutes to make it to the hospital.

He burst through the front doors, dodging past a woman on her way out, ignoring her annoyed protest. He hurried to the front desk and practically ran into it. "Where is he?" he demanded breathlessly, voice steely. His hair was slightly mussed, and a glint of fear and dread was in his eyes. "What happened? Brenda called me..."

Mary gave him a long long look, biting her bottom lip hesitantly. It was the sadness, the pity in her expression, that made Minho's heart constrict in his chest. Finally, she blew out a short breath and swiveled in her chair to point down the Flare patients' hallway. "He's in his room," she replied quietly. Deadly serious. "Some doctors and nurses are with him. It wasn't...going well."

"Okay," Minho said quickly. "Thanks." He started away from her, striding for the hall.

"Oh, Minho, wait!" she called from behind. The sudden spike of fear in her voice made him pause and look back. She swallowed, eyes wide. "I wouldn't...I wouldn't go back there...if I were you." At his confused expression, she added gravely, "it's bad."

Minho glanced first at her, then back down the hall. It was hardly a hard decision to make. "I have to," he told her helplessly. Then he turned away and broke into a jog. The walls that had become familiar to him now suddenly seemed menacing, looming over him. Doors sped past in a blur. Every single one of them was closed. It only heightened his terror even more. Patients here didn't like to close their doors like that. They wanted to hear the outside world, wanted to be a part of it.

That is, until now.

Minho understood why every door had been locked when he made it about halfway down the hall. He could just glimpse that one door from here. It was the only one that was still open. As he watched, a doctor with graying hair and glasses rushed around a corner and disappeared into the room, white coat flapping. As soon as he was gone, it started. The sounds. Frantic shouting. Scared yells. Metal instruments rattling, crashing to the floor. Footsteps pounding on the linoleum. Orders were called over the cacophony, only to be washed up by a new raised voice. Minho couldn't imagine what was going on inside that room.

Please, he prayed. Please don't let this be it. Don't let this be the end.

He skidded to a stop outside the door and was about to race inside. He halted abruptly, shocked by the scene now in front of him. A pit of black, yawning despair opened up inside of him. Dizzying fear racked his mind and he grabbed the doorframe for support.

It was absolute chaos.

Nurses were clustered around the bed, about five or six of them. They all seemed to be struggling violently with something. There was a doctor, the one Minho had seen earlier, at one side of the bed. He held a wicked-looking syringe in his hand. Face beaded with sweat, he yelled over the tumult of voices: "I can't get it in him if he's moving like that! You have to hold him down!" One of the nurses shifted to get into a better position, revealing the patient lying in bed.

Newt looked sickeningly horrible. It took all six of those nurses to hold him down, gripping his arms and legs against the mattress. He was twisting desperately in their grasp, as though trying to escape some awful thing they couldn't see. His pale golden hair was tousled and strands were plastered to his forehead with sweat. His beautiful, ocean-blue eyes were blank, completely devoid of everything except, consuming, crazed pain. He clenched his hands into fists, writhing away every time the doctor tried to inject the syringe in his skin. Grating, whimpering sounds, like that of a wounded animal, tore from his ribcage. Every shaking movement he made screamed of agony.

Minho had to look away.

He couldn't look away.

His entire world was fighting against unimaginable pain on that bed.

The doctor shook his head hopelessly. "I can't give him the painkiller if he keeps doing that!" he shouted. "You HAVE to hold him down!"

One of the nurses gritted her teeth as Newt's arm jerked in her hands. "Newt, please!" she cried. "You have to stop, or we can't help you!"

"He can't hear you," another nurse shot back, her voice tinged with resignation. She nearly sneered. "He's already too far gon—"

"MAKE IT STOP!" The strangled wail came from Newt; he'd managed to stop himself from moving for a single, shivering second. "Please, please, make it stop," he begged, tears glistening from the corners of his eyes. "I can't take it, I can't—" His words dissolved into a weak moan as the pain seized his body again.

One of the nurses flicked hair out of her face as she struggled to hold Newt down. She glanced up and her eyes locked with Minho's. It was Brenda. "Minho!" she cried, eyes growing round. "I thought Mary would make you wait out there!"

Minho couldn't tear his eyes from Newt's ravaged body. "I—I couldn't."

"Minho?!" Newt lifted his head, his chest heaving. His gaze met Minho's from across the room. Then horror shattered in his face and he twisted away again, pressing the side of his face against the pillow. "Don't look at me!" He whimpered and then retched miserably, his body searching for some way to get rid of the agony, but finding none.

Minho covered his mouth with one hand. He hadn't imagined that the Flare was like this. He'd assumed it would be a slow death with medication, not life ripped from someone over days and days of suffering.

Death did not take its victims softly.

-x-x-x-

Excruciating, unbelievable, exploding, pain.

Newt's nerves were on fire, flames licking at his skin, melting his bones. His head felt like sledgehammers were pounding into it again and again. The Flare was a breathing creature, mercilessly ripping open his body with jagged talons. He felt it curling in his stomach, crawling up his throat, raking at his brain.

He didn't know which way was up or down. White lights flashed above him. Faces peered down, concerned. He saw a needle, nauseatingly long, at the edge of his vision. He saw a black-haired boy standing in the doorway, watching in horror.

A stab of pain in his arm.

A rush of something blessedly cold in his veins.

Was he still alive? He must be, if he could still feel claws scraping over his skull.

Newt closed his eyes as the tears came, as he waited in a broken heap for the medicine to chase the Flare back to its shadowy corner.

In that moment, with a feeling like bones splintering inside of him, Newt had wanted to die.

-x-x-x-

"Have I found you?

Flightless bird,

jealous,

weeping..."

–"Flightless Bird, American Mouth," by Iron &amp; Wine

-x-x-x-

Night at the hospital felt like a hushed, soft time.

A time that needed no words and asked for none. It was as though the air itself was breakable, that one whisper would make it shatter like glass. In that one room, at the end of the hall, moonlight tumbled from the tiny window. Its silver sheets coated the floor, turning it to gleaming ice in the dark. The blankets of the bed were rumpled messily. A weak figure laid underneath them, exhaustion keeping him in the safe comfort of dreams. Beside the bed, a boy sat in a chair, arms crossed as he fought off sleep.

Minho had been staring at Newt for what seemed like hours. After the fiasco he'd walked into earlier, he'd refused to leave Newt's side. The medicine quickly dragged Newt into a deep sleep, his body falling limp in the nurses' arms. They checked him over, made sure there weren't any more internal problems, and then left him to dream in peace. The doctor later explained to Minho that the Flare worked in stages; the stage Newt was at now was marked by excruciating pain in the head, followed by deadly hallucinations, if not treated properly. After that, the deterioration of the patient was known to be terrifyingly fast.

Minho glanced up at the blonde's serene face, at the hollows of his eyes and cheeks, the greenish pallor of his skin. His chest tightened.

Newt was dying.

Minho whispered it under his breath, trying out the shape of the words. They felt like curse words in his mouth, foul, dirty things. He fought hard not to be in denial, to just accept the truth of it. But he couldn't help it. Hope was such an awful, addictive drug; once you'd had a taste of it, you just kept on trying to get more. Minho hoped for some miracle-cure. Hoped for Newt to wake up and be perfectly fine. Hoped for that just-out-of-reach life that they could have.

What kind of world was this? Why would the universe, God, whoever, take Newt away from him?

"I hate you," Minho growled softly. He didn't know who he was talking to. The Flare, maybe. The universe. He felt the anger burn inside of him, smoldering, white-hot. He wanted something physical in front of him, something he could hurt. He didn't want to sit back and watch his life ebb away with Newt's.

But the anger didn't last long. He knew he was being foolish. When the hatred faded, a numb hollowness was left. It was almost worse than the rage.

A quiet breath in the dark.

Minho glanced up immediately as Newt stirred. The blonde shifted in his sleep, his hand slipping off his stomach onto the mattress. A little sound left him, and it made Minho's heart melt into a puddle in his chest. He waited, breath held, for that moment when Newt opened his eyes. Glacier-blue irises glimmered in the dimness, fogged over with sleep. It took only a second for them to find Minho. Newt's lips quirked a bit and he inhaled shakily. "Min."

Minho knew his smile was wobbly as he leaned forward in his chair. "Hey, sweetheart," he murmured, closing his hand lightly over Newt's.

Newt sighed roughly. "What time is it?" he asked.

"It's in the middle of the night." Minho stroked his thumb over the back of Newt's palm. "How d'you feel?"

"Well," Newt began, lifting his free hand to rake his hair back. "I don't feel like hell anymore, so that's improvement." He managed the flash of a joking smirk, but it was quickly gone again. He turned his head to look Minho in the eye. "This is it, huh?" he asked softly.

Minho's stomach clenched. He held Newt's hand tighter and shook his head stubbornly. "No."

"Minho..."

"I'm not gonna listen to you if you're gonna say things like that."

"But it's true."

"No, it's not." Minho lifted Newt's hand and tenderly kissed his knuckles. "I'm not giving up on you."

Newt's gaze brimmed with sorrow. "It's doesn't matter," he whispered thickly. "I'm not going to get better. You knew that from the beginning. I told you it would get bad."

"You don't know you won't get better," Minho argued uselessly. "Remember what Brenda was saying? About experimental cures? They're bringing one in soon, and you can try it."

"They never work, Minho," Newt reminded him. "I told you, this is what was always gonna happen—"

"Stop telling me what you already told me!" Minho's voice suddenly lashed out, harsh as a cracking whip. The silence around them splintered into moonlit fragments. His body was rigid, both hands trembling as they held Newt's.

Newt stared at him, shocked. Minho never raised his voice at Newt.

Minho glared down at the floor. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I just—" He stopped himself, inhaling shudderingly. Bowing his head, he let out the breath again, but it came out short and fast. His fingers laced through Newt's. "I just...I can't give up," he managed, voice strangled. "I can't let you go."

Newt's expression softened. "You have to," he whispered solemnly.

"No, I can't."

"You don't have any other choice."

"I can keep holding on."

"Well, I can't." Newt's words were a breath in the room. "Minho, I'm dying."

Minho didn't raise his head for a moment. He couldn't look at Newt. He would just be reminded of all he was losing. Shutting his eyes miserably, he kissed Newt's knuckles again, then every one of his fingertips. He lifted his gaze to Newt's face and there were tears in his eyes. "You can't ask me to do this," he whispered hoarsely. "You can't just ask me to let you die in front of me, without trying to do something. I care too much about you."

"What did you want to do, Minho?" Newt asked gently. "Fight the Flare for me?"

"I wish I could."

"I don't. I'd never wish this on anybody, especially you. It's better this way."

Minho's head jerked up at that. "How is this better?" he asked disbelievingly.

Newt didn't answer. He shifted his gaze down to his hand, the one intertwined with Minho's. He stared at their joined hands for a minute, rubbing his thumb absently over Minho's knuckles. Then he took a breath. "I want you to promise me something, Minho," he whispered.

"Of course," Minho said immediately. "I'll promise you anything, angel."

Newt shut his eyes. "Promise me you won't stop yourself from...loving someone else when I'm gone."

The walls seemed to shrink around them, closing Minho in. He swallowed hard. "I...I can't," he admitted.

"Minho, please." Newt's eyes pleaded with Minho's. "If you live the rest of your life in grief over me, I'll never forgive myself for leaving you. You can't reject happiness with someone else if it comes along. I'd never want you to live like that."

"I can't love anybody else," Minho replied sadly. "I love you, I need you." He bent forward then, up off the chair, and pressed a desperate kiss to Newt's mouth. "I need you, Newt," he mumbled, their lips brushing.

Newt grabbed the back of Minho's head, pulling him into another, deeper kiss. He broke it soon after, breathless, as though he didn't have enough strength. "I need you, too," he whispered thickly. "God, Minho—" He turned his face away. "You don't know how hard this is. But please. Please just promise me."

Minho thought that the whole thing was so, incredibly unfair. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting off his tears. How could Newt beg him? When he knew that Minho would never be able to say no when he begged? Collecting himself, ordering himself to pull it together, he opened his eyes again. "I...promise," he managed, the words dragged from him in slow torture. "I promise."

Newt gave a small, painful nod. "Thank you."

Minho stared at him, their faces inches apart, those gorgeous blue eyes so close to his own. He drank in the sight of Newt like he'd been craving it for years. He memorized the silken sweep of Newt's throat, the softness in his feathery hair, even the sickly shadows of his cheeks. Was it really too much to want this, all of this happiness? A tiny sound broke out from his throat, almost a sob, and he buried his face in Newt's chest. "Don't do this, Newt," he whimpered. "Don't leave me. I don't know what I'll do without you."

Newt stroked Minho's hair soothingly, holding him close. "Shhhh," he hushed. "Shhhh, it's okay. It's okay." He closed his eyes, nuzzling Minho's neck. "I'll fight it," he whispered. "For you. But I don't know how long I can fight."

Minho didn't answer. There was nothing left for him to say.

They held each other in the moonlight, their silent prayers filling the room.


	11. Chapter 11

-Hello, lovely readers! First of all, I wanna say thank you so so much for the reviews. You're the best readers ever, seriously. Second of all, um, I'm sorry; I feel like this chapter wasn't as well-written as it could've been, but hey, I'll let you be the judge. Only a few more chapters left! Hang in there, guys :)-

The days dragged on and on, torturously slow. Every one of them was worse than the last. Minho barely left the hospital now. His boss at work had warned him about staying away from the school for too long; none of the substitutes knew anything about art and the children's education was suffering. But Minho couldn't leave until he was sure that Newt was okay. Or until... He worked every day to shove that particular thought to the back of mind, leaving it unfinished. It lurked at the edges of his consciousness, haunting him as he walked down the now-familiar white hallways.

Newt settled into a gruesome routine as the days passed. In the morning, he'd be injected with a heavy dose of medication. Combined with his ravaged body, it made him weak and tired all of the time. Then, the hospital staff would bring him food. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Newt hardly touched anything. What he did eat, he couldn't keep down. He began to live off of crackers and water. His body became even thinner, more sickly. Then there were the headaches. They came out of nowhere, wrecking balls bursting into his skull and making him cry out in pain. Nurses and doctors would rush to aid him with powerful painkillers and icepacks.

The nights were even worse. Every single night, Newt woke up screaming from vivid hallucinations. He saw the hospital around him on fire, jerking his hands away from the bedsheets as though they burned him. He saw wild animals crashing through the door and lunging for him with long claws. He saw people crawling, begging for him to save them, bleeding out in front of him. Every time, Minho was there, jerked awake by Newt's broken voice. He'd take Newt in his arms and hold him, whispering soft things in his ear until the hallucinations died. And then he'd do it all over again the next night.

It was unbearable. Minho was falling apart. He couldn't stand watching Newt go through this. Death was tearing him open day after day, and it was taking its time in doing so. Minho knew that he shouldn't want to see Newt suffer the way he was. But Minho was selfish; he wanted Newt to keep fighting, because he wanted Newt to live. He still needed more time together. He needed so much more than they'd gotten.

I can't live without him, Minho thought to himself, as he walked down the Flare hallway once again. His steps were sluggish, feet sliding over the floor. He felt like his bones were made of lead, exhaustion pulling them downward. He barely slept now. His hair was rumpled. He gave up completely on caring about what he looked like; he wore gray sweatpants and a black hoodie to fight off the constant chill of the hospital. Rubbing at his eyes, he stifled a yawn as he made his way toward Newt's room. He pretty much lived there now, only leaving when he absolutely had to.

He'd just about made it there when suddenly, a new and terrifying sound reached him. It was a loud, screeching crash, as though something had been hurled at the wall. It made a strange hollow noise too. It was a sound he couldn't place, but he definitely knew that something had been broken. His tiredness was forgotten in new fear, and he picked up the pace. He was jogging when he reached Newt's door and halted at the threshold. He couldn't speak for a long minute. He just stared at the destruction in front him, lips parting in astonishment.

Newt was sitting on the floor, on his knees. His back was hunched forward and he held his hands palm-up in his lap. His hair flopped messily down into his face, but he didn't seem to notice. He was busy staring hollowly at the mess around him. Lying in front of him on the floor, amid a sea of splinters, was his violin. The precious instrument was smashed in two, held together by only the gleam of strings. The bow laid beside it, still whole, but now unfathomably lonely. Splinters and bits of wood were scattered about on the floor. There was a mess of bloody scratches on Newt's arms and hands too.

Minho's lungs wouldn't work. Newt had...done this himself?

Minho took a single step into the room. "N—Newt," he stammered, his shock still ringing in his voice. "What did you...?" He didn't finish. He couldn't tear his eyes from the beautiful, awful shipwreck of Newt's beloved instrument.

Newt's gaze darted up to Minho's face, then back down again. He spoke in a numb, empty voice. "Minho." The greeting had lost its normal happiness.

Minho ran his hand over his face as he picked his way through the wreckage. "Newt, I..." He trailed off, kneeling down next to Newt. "Why would you do this?"

Newt silently held out his hands to Minho. Minho glanced down in confusion. Newt's fingers were permanently curled upward into ragged claws. His hands shook violently as Minho watched, and were riddled with splinters and beads of blood. "They never stop shaking," Newt said.

Minho searched his face, puzzled.

Newt took a deep breath and let it out again slowly. "I can't play anymore."

Minho felt the words like they were blades in his heart. He glanced back down at the broken violin. God, it wasn't enough that the Flare was already taking Newt's life. It had to steal this from him too. Tenderly touching Newt's back, Minho forced a smile onto his face. "Don't worry about it," he murmured. "I'll buy you a new one."

Newt shook his head. "They're too expensive..."

"I don't care. I'll get you any one you want."

"You can't mean that."

"I do."

Newt looked down at his slashed hands and sniffed. "I had this one since I was four," he whispered hoarsely.

Minho slid his hand up and down Newt's back, feeling every notch of Newt's spine under his shirt. "It's okay," he assured soothingly. "It's okay. You were angry, but it's over now. You're fine." He waited until Newt closed his eyes under Minho's touch. Then he tugged at Newt's shirtsleeve. "C'mon. We need to clean up your hands."

Newt nodded and let himself be gently pulled to his feet. His clothes hung on his spindly frame, showing the sharp protrusions of his shoulders. His skin was so pale, it looked more green than white. On the way across the room, he stumbled. Minho caught him immediately, an arm around Newt's waist and the blonde's side against his. He felt every one of Newt's ribs through his shirt. Newt whimpered weakly. "I can't walk."

"It's all right, sweetheart," Minho murmured. "I'll carry you." It was a short distance to the sink anyway. Bending down, he looped an arm under Newt's knees, and another under his back. He straightened up again, cradling Newt in his arms. The blonde pressed his face into Minho's shoulder, eyelids slipping shut. Minho brushed his lips to Newt's head before carrying him the rest of the way to the room's sink. Pausing, he asked, "do you wanna sit down instead of standing?"

"Yes," Newt breathed back.

Minho carefully set Newt down on the edge of the sink, as there weren't any other chairs close by. After making sure that Newt wouldn't topple over, he turned to the sink. He twisted a handle and cold water came rushing out. He tried to make it warmer, but not too hot. The entire time, he rested his hand subconsciously on Newt's leg, as though to keep him from falling onto the floor.

Once the water was warm enough, Minho took Newt's hands in his own. He tediously plucked out every splinter, doing it in a dreadfully patient way that would cause no pain to Newt. Then he guided Newt's hands into the stream of water. Newt let out a sigh as the water eased away the throbbing in his hands. A swirl of pale crimson appeared in the sink, spinning away down the drain. Minho rubbed his thumbs over Newt's palms and down his lovely musician's fingers. He found himself lost in the feel of it and probably washed Newt's hands for longer than he needed to. Then he shut off the water and looked around for paper towels.

Newt watched as Minho found the paper towel dispenser on the wall and pulled out three. The blonde drew in a rattling breath. "Min. I wanted to tell you—" He broke off, hissing as he touched a hand to his temple. Pain gleamed in his eyes.

"Shhh. Don't talk." Minho reached up and gently took Newt's hand from his head. He began to dry both of Newt's hands, dabbing the towels in the lingering blood.

Newt let out a long sigh, but stayed silent as Minho worked on his hands. Once Minho was done and had thrown the paper towels away, he turned back to Newt. "All right," he said softly, leaning in and kissing Newt's forehead. "I'll get you back in bed, okay?"

Newt managed a weak smile as Minho slid him off the counter and back into his arms. Holding Newt close, he started to carry him back to his hospital bed. He made it halfway there when Newt abruptly reached up to cup his jaw. Turning Minho's face toward him, he pressed a kiss to Minho's mouth. Minho paused, his eyelids fluttering shut as Newt's soft lips touched his. When Newt pulled back, he stroked his thumb once over Minho's cheek. "I wanted to say I'm sorry," he whispered.

Minho cocked his head. "Why're you sorry?" he asked.

"Because I don't think I can hold on." Newt's voice shook. "I'm trying, Minho, I'm trying. It's just too hard..." He buried his face in the crook of Minho's neck. "Everything hurts," he breathed.

Minho felt his heart break even more. He sat on the edge of the hospital bed, the stiff sheets crinkling under him like paper. He couldn't stand the thought of his Newt lying on that, so he kept Newt cradled in his lap instead. "You don't have to apologize," he mumbled, tenderly caressing Newt's cheek with his fingers. "I know you're trying. I hate that you're in pain. But you never have to say you're sorry for what the Flare did to you."

Newt tipped his chin up to meet Minho's gaze, his face sallow and broken. His eyes closed as Minho's thumb stroked over his bottom lip. "I just want you to know," he murmured, "that if I had a choice, I would stay. I would stay with you forever, Min."

Forever. It seemed like such a treasured word, one Minho didn't dare to say aloud. It felt as though that single word would always stay just out of reach for them. He trailed his fingertips down Newt's neck, and still reveled in the feel of smooth skin under his touch. Even in this state, withering away in Minho's arms, Newt still held that careless beauty for Minho. He didn't see a dying patient. He saw an angel with broken wings.

"Stay with me," he pleaded, hushed. He knew he was being unfair, but he couldn't help it. "Please, love, stay with me. I'll take care of you, I swear." His hand fell down to Newt's in his lap and held it. "I'll give you anything you want, anything at all. Just get better, Newt. You can have every violin you've ever dreamed of, you can have a home, you can have me. Please."

Newt's eyes brimmed with hurt. "I'm sorry," he repeated, the two words a broken whisper in the room. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

They sat alone for a few more precious minutes.

They didn't know that this was one of their last moments together.


	12. Chapter 12

-Here we are, the last chapter and the epilogue. I can't thank you all enough for supporting this story as much as you did. Your reviews inspired me to keep going and always brought a smile to my face. You're truly amazing readers. I hope I did this story justice with this ending, but I'll let you be the judge of that. Read on, guys :)-

Four days later, Brenda found the couple back in that lonely room. She paused in the doorway, uncertain of whether she should walk in or not. The scene in front of her was too tragic to look at.

Newt was lying on his back in bed, his hands at his sides. His head rested on two pillows piled on top of each other, so that he could sit up. He couldn't do it on his own anymore; he was too weak now. His skin was positively ghostly, stretched thin over his bones. His eyes were nothing but hollow pits in his face, closed for now while he slept. He looked one step away from falling into a grave.

Minho was sitting in a chair at Newt's bedside, hunched forward. His arms were folded on the edge of the mattress, his head bowed into them. The fabric of his black T-shirt was wrinkled as though he'd been wearing it for days. He glanced up once when Brenda opened the door, lifting his head a little. There were shadows under his eyes, but he scraped up a half-smile. "Hey, Brenda," he said in a rough voice.

Brenda managed a small smile back, but it wasn't able to stay for long. "Hey," she greeted just as quietly. "How's he doing?"

Minho looked at Newt for a moment. His hand went to hold Newt's instinctively. "Fine," he answered unconvincingly. "He's doing...he's doing okay..." He trailed off because he knew it was a terrible, terrible lie. Softly, he lifted Newt's hand and kissed his knuckles.

Brenda stepped farther into the room. "How're YOU doing?" she asked.

Minho raked his hand through his hair, now not spiked at all, but flopping into his face. "I feel like hell," he admitted.

"Are you sleeping at all?"

"No."

"What about eating?"

"Not really."

"Minho."

"I can't." Minho met her gaze. The hopeless sorrow glistened in his eyes. "How can I, when he's lying here like this?" His voice broke then and he had to pause, collecting himself again. "How can I sleep when he wakes up screaming? How can I eat when he can't keep anything down? How can I live when he's DYING?" His words grew more intense at the end, louder. With a mindful glance at a sleeping Newt, he fell silent again.

Brenda studied him gravely. "You can't give up on yourself," she told him. "Newt's already suffering. He's doesn't want to watch you suffer too."

"I don't care," Minho muttered.

"You should."

He jerked his head up at that. "What?"

She took a breath. "If you loved him, you wouldn't do this to yourself," she said softly, aware that this was a dangerous sentence to say.

"I'm doing all of this BECAUSE I love him," Minho growled.

"Minho—" Brenda's protest was cut short.

"I love Newt more than my own life." Minho held her with his obsidian gaze, unwavering. Even though there were tears glinting in the corners of his eyes. He inhaled raggedly. "I'd give my life for him," he murmured brokenly. His tears were threatening to overflow now. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. I never wanted this."

Brenda's shoulders slumped. "I know you didn't," she replied. "I just...I want you to understand, that's all. Newt doesn't want you to be in pain like this."

"I know," Minho mumbled.

"He wants the best for you, you know?"

"Yeah."

Brenda studied him carefully. Opening her mouth to speak again, she took a breath, but was interrupted; both she and Minho jerked as Newt squirmed in his sleep. A reedy whimper escaped his throat, barely audible. His face tightened in pain. Minho was grabbing Newt's hand again instantly, stroking his fingers over the back of Newt's palm. He watched in concern as Newt moved in bed again and groaned. Minho's gaze flicked over Newt's face desperately. "Newt?"

Brenda remembered why she'd come in here: the syringe in her hands. "He needs his medicine," she said, striding up to Newt's bedside. She held up the syringe full of a liquid as clear as crystal. "The experimental cure came in today. We're going to try it soon." She examined the needle through narrowed eyes.

Newt was shifting back and forth now, his sounds of distress growing more awful. His chest began to heave as he fought for air. Minho was gripping Newt's hand too hard but he didn't notice. "Do something," he pleaded Brenda.

Brenda wasted no more time. She quickly swabbed Newt's arm with antiseptic and let the needle sink in. Pressing down on the plunger, she didn't stop until all of the contents were in Newt's bloodstream. It was a fast-acting medication, intended to relieve the patient of pain as soon as possible. She pulled out the needle while she waited for it to kick in. By the time she had Newt's arm bandaged, it was already working.

Gradually, Newt's breathing quieted. He stopped writhing in bed and collapsed into the mattress. He fell back into his deep sleep again, with his weak, labored breathing and the tiny movements of jutting bones. Sweaty hair stuck to his forehead. Minho reached out and pushed the stubborn strands back. "Angel," he whispered, brushing his knuckles over Newt's cheek. The love and grief were tangled up in his eyes, both breaking him apart. He glanced up at Brenda in sorrow. "I can't do this anymore, Brenda. It's killing me, watching him like this."

Brenda hated this part of her job. To see patients crumbling in front of her and then to watch their loved ones come apart. It was heartbreaking. And this case was special to her. As much as she tried to stay unbiased with patients, she had been caught in Newt's spell too. No, she wasn't in love with him, not the way Minho was. But she'd noticed that quality he had, that captivating, enrapturing beauty. Everyone here had noticed. As sarcastic as he was, the nurses loved him. The doctors loved him.

No one was prepared for him to die.

But I know the truth, she thought sadly. She'd seen Flare patients before and had taken care of them right up until the end. She knew exactly what that fatigue and failure in the final days looked like. It was happening now. She wanted to deny it, but the facts were in front of her, lying still in a hospital bed.

The truth was that Newt probably wouldn't survive the night. And this lovely, inspiring light he had would go out with him.

She didn't have the heart to tell Minho.

-x-x-x-

It happened late that evening.

The light was falling from the windows in waves of dark honey, staining the floors reddish-gold. Outside, the sun sank low on the horizon, right beneath a white-hot sky. The fiery yellow faded into crimson, and then violet, until it turned to the blue-black of coming night. A few stars winked like spilled coins from the twilight.

Inside the hospital, all was calm. A few doctors headed down the hallways to tend to patients, and there was always the clatter of keyboards from the front desk. A couple people in the waiting room talked to each other in hushed tones. But down the Flare hallway, it was deafeningly quiet. No patients stirred from their sleep. No breath broke the air. No voice dared to break the silence. It was as though the very atmosphere of this place was all focused on that one room near the end of the hall.

In that room, a group of nurses and doctors were clustered loosely around a hospital bed. They were all solemn-faced and grave, hands clasped in front of them. Several were wiping at their eyes. There was Mary from the front desk, arms folded over her chest and her lips set in a thin line. There was Brenda, sniffling and holding a syringe in trembling hands. There was a boy with black hair, sitting at the bedside with his life shattering in his eyes.

And on the bed, there was a breathtaking blonde, every bone visible through his paper skin, and every breath becoming smaller. He wouldn't open his eyes from this sleep, a sleep that came like dark waters and dragged you down down down. He would never wake up again.

The drone of the heart monitor beeped plaintively in the corner.

Brenda glanced around at them all. "I, um." She stopped, took another breath. "I—I have the experimental cure. It came in a few days ago, but we couldn't use it then. So...so I brought it today." She squeezed her eyes shut, holding back unbearable emotion. "It might help."

One of the nurses shook her head and another closed her eyes. They knew it was a grasp at hope that would lead nowhere. Experimental cures never worked. They'd been trying to cure the Flare for years. Every strain and every patient was different. How could one cure sweep that kind of disease away?

Minho didn't lift his gaze from Newt's face. "Okay," he said softly. "Go ahead, Brenda." His voice was as hollow as an empty grave.

Brenda dipped her head. She bent over Newt and carefully wiped his arm as she'd done thousands of times before. The others watched hopelessly. A doctor turned his face away. The syringe glowed with a liquid colored palest blue, the color of starlight on water. Brenda slid the needle in and let every last drop slip into Newt's veins. Pulling it out again, she bandaged his arm and straightened up again. There was nothing more she could do.

They waited. The sun traveled lower and lower outside. The heart monitor toiled on. Newt's labored breathing scraped the air.

Minho had been holding Newt's hand for what seemed like days. He cradled it in both of his hands, gently, like it was made of delicate porcelain. Glancing down, he grazed his thumbs over the lines of Newt's palm and folded those slender violinist's fingers over his own. He remembered Newt's fingers dancing over violin strings. He remembered Newt's fingers curling in his sheets in pain. He remembered Newt's fingers running through his hair.

Nothing dies as long as it's remembered.

What a sick, terrible lie.

Minho brought Newt's hand to his lips. He looked at Newt lying there, asleep and falling away in pieces. I wish I'd known, Minho thought. I wish I'd known before that it was our last time together.

The day with the broken violin. Minho hadn't known it would be the last time Newt ever spoke to him. The last thing he'd said was, I'm sorry. Minho wished it hadn't been that way. He would give anything for Newt to wake up, just for a moment. Then Minho could say he loved him and he'd know that Newt heard. But he had to settle for this.

Brenda checked the equipment by Newt's bed. "Not much longer," she murmured chokingly. She glanced down at Newt and her eyes gleamed with unshed tears.

Minho's throat threatened to close up on him. He clenched his jaw against the ache. "Newt," he whispered. "I wish we had more time then we got. I'd trade my life to have just one more day with you. I have to settle for this instead. But I don't regret it at all. Not the way you said I would. The past few months have been...the best of my life." His voice wavered and he paused to collect himself again. "You...you showed me so much. And I never could've fallen in love with anyone else but you. If things had been different, I would've told you that every day, Newt. I would've given you a life with me."

Brenda hugged herself so hard, her fingers dug into her arms. Mary covered her mouth with one hand. The others sniffed and clutched each other's fingers tightly. All the while, Newt's chest rose and fell with less strength by the minute.

Minho bit back a tear-choked sound and reached out to brush his fingers down Newt's cheek. "I love you, Newt," he breathed hoarsely. "I love you more than I'll ever be able to say." His heart constricted because he knew Newt couldn't hear him. "I want you to fight, because I'm selfish. I want you to fight until you beat this. But I can't be selfish anymore. So...so if you're ready...it's okay." A stray tear escaped, running down Minho's face, but he didn't care. "It's okay, sweetheart. You can let go."

The heart monitor beeped and beeped. Brenda turned away from it, her lips trembling. Slowly, surely, the beeps came less and less often. They sputtered, and coughed, and barely made a dent in the glowing line on the screen. Someone choked off a sob. Mary shut her eyes, but her tears betrayed her, leaking out the corners and down her face. Newt's chest hardly lifted. His eyelids didn't even twitch. The beeping continued to grow more sluggish and no one could bear to listen. But they did. They did because they had to.

Minho gripped Newt's hand tighter as he watched the blonde lying there. Newt didn't struggle. He didn't make a sound. He didn't lift a finger. He faded the way flowers do, petal by petal, beautifully, and with unrivaled grace. It was the way your dreams slip away in the early morning, until they are forgotten, but still leave a lingering lightness behind. Angels don't die with screams and fear.

Angels die softly.

And they leave behind no more than the whisper of a feather.

The beeping ceased. Minho's fingers curled over Newt's wrist, at the place where his pulse beat. He felt it when Newt's heart stopped.

-x-x-x-

The room went still.

Somebody sobbed out loud this time. Nurses bowed their heads. Brenda's hands were over her mouth, mascara making ragged lines down her face. Mary had walked to a corner, shaking awfully. Other than this, not a person moved.

Minho stared blankly at the heart monitor, at the line that no longer jumped. His gaze flicked back to Newt's closed eyelids. "Newt...Newt, please." He touched Newt's hair, his cheek, traced his jaw. Nothing happened. There was no response. Minho's eyes burned and his chest hurt terribly. He sucked in a shuddery breath. "Newt, angel, don't," he begged, but what was there left to beg for? Newt was gone. The thought hit him like a knife to the heart and he grabbed for Newt's hand again, his own hands shaking. "Newt," he whispered, "Newt, Newt..." He buried his face in Newt's chest and sobbed. His shoulders shook. One of the nurses reached out as though to touch him, but drew her hand back again.

Minho was broken. He was nothing. What good was it to be alive if he had lost all he wanted to live for? He let his tears soak Newt's shirt and felt his heart shatter. He was dying too.

A tiny sound.

An insignificant sound.

A sound that made the world stop spinning.

The nurses froze. Mary turned back around, her eyes wide with shock. Brenda wiped the mascara from under her eyes and squinted at the heart monitor. "Oh my god."

The sound came again. A small, insistent beep. Another followed it. And then another, and another.

Minho raised his head and looked at Newt through tear-blurry eyes. "N—Newt?"

Silence.

The tiny beeps.

Their held breaths.

The beautiful,

heart-wrenching,

wonderful sound

of Newt

breathing

"Minho."

-EPILOGUE: 2 MONTHS LATER-

It was a bright, spring morning, with just a hint of chill in the air, when Minho was awakened by the sound of someone moving. Dragging himself from sleep, he huffed out a breath and turned to peer at his digital clock. 8:37. Who would wake up on a Saturday at 8:37? No one, that's who. Still, he rubbed at his eyes with both hands in an attempt to fight off lingering dreams. He speared his fingers back through his rumpled hair, then propped himself up on his elbows. The covers slipped down his bare chest and stopped halfway down his stomach. He smiled slightly when he saw who it was that was moving around so much.

Newt was across the room, by the wall of windows and a dark dresser. He currently had a frustrated look on his face as he tugged on a pair of dark skinny jeans. "Oh my god, seriously?" he muttered, oblivious to Minho's eyes on him. "I got these on a week ago, how can it be this much harder now?" Triumphantly, he got the jeans buttoned and slipped on a belt. Then he grabbed his red Converses and a denim shirt of Minho's. He was pushing his arms through the sleeves when Minho finally spoke up.

"You do realize it's only 8:30 in the morning, right?" Minho asked playfully.

Newt glanced up at him and his lips curved up. "Yeah, well, I wanna go do something important today and I can't be late," he replied.

"What could you possibly be doing this early on a Saturday?"

"More than what YOU'RE doing," Newt flashed back. "I'm going up to the hospital again. They want me to play for them."

Minho smiled. Of course. He should've known this had something to do with music. He watched Newt buttoning up his shirt, his fingers sure and steady. The sunlight from the windows traced the curve of his back and shoulders. Since they had stumbled onto the cure two months ago, Newt had only been growing healthier. He wasn't as pale anymore or as thin; his skin had taken on a healthy almost-tan in the spring sun, and his body was lithe and lean. He truly resembled an angel as he finished hastily buttoning his shirt and started shoving his feet into his shoes.

Minho chuckled at Newt's quiet hurrying. "You're awfully awake for someone who had his hands on me all night," he commented lightly.

Newt snorted and shot Minho an elvish smirk. "You started it," he accused.

"Did not," Minho argued.

"Oh, you don't think you stripping my pants off wasn't starting it? Because it was."

"Please. You shouldn't have had that much to drink last night."

"Hey, I had the Flare two months ago; I have the right to have as much wine as I want. Besides, you still started it."

"Oh, okay, I guess you forgot the way you said you wanted it after the fourth glass."

"I did not drink THAT much! Okay, you know what?" Newt broke off and crossed the room in only a couple strides. Minho edged back against the pillows at the wicked look on Newt's face, then grinned when the blonde slid himself on top of Minho in bed. Pinned between Newt's arms, Minho allowed himself to be trapped and took the moment to admire the blonde above him. Newt looked far from angelic; he was positively sexy with his hair falling over his eyes and Minho's shirt unbuttoned to show a V of bare chest.

Newt's smirk turned devilish. "Admit that you started it," he challenged.

"No way," Minho scoffed.

"Minho, I swear to God..."

"It was totally you who started it."

"You're such a liar." Newt leaned down and kissed Minho's nose, then ducked to kiss his chin. Minho tensed, but Newt stopped a millimeter from kissing his mouth. Newt grinned. "I'm not gonna kiss you until you admit it," he murmured.

"Then you're gonna have to wait a long time," Minho returned, though his words were weak. He couldn't resist Newt when the blonde was stretched out on top of him like this.

Newt knew it and took full advantage of it. "You're still lying to me, Min." As he spoke, he let himself sink on top of Minho, their stomachs and chests pressed together. Their legs fit together with a thin layer of sheets between them. Newt noted the ripple of muscle against him. "You wearing anything under this?" he asked, tugging at the covers at Minho's waist.

Minho swallowed hard as body heat flooded into him. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he asked with a smirk. But he was finding it harder to concentrate, because dear God, he could smell Newt's cologne and it was an utter addiction.

Newt cocked his head to one side teasingly. "I do wanna know," he breathed, their lips brushing. "So say you started it so I can kiss you."

"I'm not making it that easy for you," Minho shot back.

Newt laughed breathlessly. "Dammit, Minho," he muttered, and then he sank his mouth onto Minho's.

Minho couldn't help but tilt his head up into the kiss and let out a sigh of bliss. Newt always kissed him slowly, taking control and turning Minho into a hot mess under his hands. The first touch of Newt's tongue made Minho whimper for more. Finally, he moved his hands from under Newt and set them at the blonde's hips. They were way too low, his fingers splayed over Newt's back pockets, but he didn't care. Not when Newt was licking his bottom lip between kisses.

"Thought you had somewhere to go," Minho mumbled into Newt's mouth. His reply was a growl and a chastising nip at his lips. Minho couldn't argue with that so he obediently shut up and focused instead on shoving his hands up the back of Newt's shirt.

Newt released a huffed breath and slipped downward, away from Minho's lips. Nudging Minho's head to the side, he pressed his mouth to the side of Minho's neck. Newt kissed his way down the line of Minho's throat, making sure his teeth grazed the skin each time. Minho's head fell back, eyes drifting shut and a low hum of pleasure leaving him. Newt reached the curve just between his neck and shoulder. Without warning, he sank his teeth gently into the skin and worked at the place with his mouth. There was definitely going to be mark there and Minho moaned at the mere thought of Newt leaving his mark on him.

Satisfied with the sounds he'd pulled from Minho, Newt ceased his heated kissing and drew back. A smile tipped up his mouth at one side as he gazed down at his boyfriend. "I love you," he murmured. There was no holding back now when he said that beautiful sentence. There was no reason for him to be afraid of never having a chance to say it again.

Minho felt his heart swell in his chest. "I love you, too."

Newt's smile widened. His eyes trailed over Minho beneath him. "I wish I could stay here with you. But I promised them I'd be at the hospital soon."

"I'll meet you up there later," Minho decided. He stroked his hands up and down Newt's back. "We can go out afterwards, to any restaurant you want. I'll pay for all of it."

Newt shook his head. "You spoil me too much, Min," he murmured. "First a brand new violin and now this?"

"I just never thought I'd have this," Minho replied softly.

Newt's blue eyes glimmered with happiness and he placed a kiss on Minho's mouth. "You'll have me forever," he breathed, that wonderful, sacred word leaving his lips like music. Never before was Minho more happy to hear that word spoken by his angel. Suddenly, forever didn't seem so out of reach.

-x-x-x-

That day, at the hospital, a black-haired boy sat among a crowd of nurses, doctors, and patients, in a room with a wall of sunlit windows, and a blonde boy with a violin in his hands.

And the halls were filled with music.


End file.
